Chasing the Wind:
Philosophical Reflections on Life
Tim A. Krell
March 1, 1996
Philosophy 311
Copyright © 1996-1997 Tim A. Krell.
All rights reserved.
For this paper of philosophical reflection, I have attempted to explore the deep reaches of my own personal philosophical questions, ideas, and reflections. For me, much of my own philosophical thinking is rooted in the words of the Bible, in particular the ancient "Philosopher" who wrote the book of Ecclesiastes. So rather than attempt to conceal the true origin of my thoughts, I have opted instead to use them as a foundation upon which I can explore these ideas, thoughts, and opinions. I have chosen to reference the "Philosopher" not because I wish to highlight or rehash his views, but rather because they so closely parallel my own personal thoughts and feelings. For our purposes, the chapters of the Philosopher's book will provide a basis for traversing my own personal philosophy.
Throughout my writings, I will refer to the writer of Ecclesiastes as "the Philosopher." Some have speculated this person was King Solomon, but since the author chose not to identify himself, all we really know is that he was a son or descendant of King David and a former ruler of Jerusalem. On another housekeeping note, all scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are from the Good News Bible, Today's English Version (TEV)--Old Testament: Copyright © American Bible Society 1976; New Testament: Copyright © American Bible Society 1966, 1971, 1976. Other scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV), Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.
That said, we begin!
"It is useless, useless, said the Philosopher. Life is useless, all useless. You spend your life working, laboring, and what do you have to show for it?" (Eccl. 1:2b-3)
USELESS. There's an interesting word to describe life. Not unproductive or uneventful or even unimportant--but useless. Think about it: what are some of the important things which take up large portions of our time? A hot project at work? An important assignment at school? A much-needed task at home? Could the word, "useless" be applied to any of these? Perhaps not now from our perspective, but how about 100 years from now? Will that hot project we're working on now have an impact 100 years from now after the company has folded or the organization has been reorganized? Will that urgent assignment at school do anything to prolong or greatly impact our life? Will that critical home improvement job we've spent weeks on be all that appreciated by the subsequent owners of the home--after they've torn it down?
Useless. That's the word the Philosopher chose when he sought to describe life. "Generations come and generations go, but the world stays just the same." Of all the things that we did today--how many of them will have a lasting impact? Probably not many, yet we chase after each project or task as if it did. And this results in weariness: "Everything leads to weariness--a weariness too great for words," says the Philosopher. How many times have we climbed into bed exhausted after a day of pressure, strain, and non-stop emergencies? We thrive on pressure, and charge through obstacles, but after a long day, sleep is about the only reward for our efforts. Indeed, not much has changed in 3,000 years.
Life is useless. Those words hit hard when life is viewed from a distance. As Job noted, we enter this world naked and that's exactly the same way we're going to leave it--the clothes we wear will rot, our possessions will be sold, and life will go on. Many will miss us, but many more will never know of our existence, regardless of our fame and fortune. Life will continue on much as it has, long after we aren't. Life isn't unimportant, nor is it uneventful--but from a worldly perspective it is useless. The Philosopher wisely points out that the purpose of life cannot be found in life's daily grind. There must be more to life than work, school, houses or cars. We are chasing the wind if we see life only in terms of options and investments, or working hard and playing well. What freedom there is in knowing that there is more to life than life itself.
"I decided to enjoy myself and find out what happiness is . . ." (Eccl. 2:1)
THOUGH I NEVER HAD an opportunity to see it, I find an old television show called "The Millionaire" quite fascinating. In each show, an ordinary person was given a large sum of money; the duration of the show would document the joy and sorrow of their newfound wealth. I wonder how many people today secretly hope for the same thing. Based on the sales of lottery tickets worldwide, the growth of the gambling industry, and the response to the annual Publisher's Clearinghouse sweepstakes, it would appear that those hoping to become suddenly rich far outnumber those who don't. But why be rich? For centuries, the old saying that "money can't buy happiness" has been espoused by many; but few ever live their lives as if there is any truth to this statement--in fact, quite the contrary. As one wise pundit with deep insight put it, "All I want is the chance to prove that money can't buy me happiness."
But the sad truth is, money can buy happiness. One need only fly first-class once on any major airline to understand that. Those who fly first-class are treated like royalty; those who fly coach, are herded like cattle. The primary difference between the two "classes" lies in the amount of money paid for the tickets. The more money a person is willing to pay for any type of goods or services, the better those goods and services tend to be. Our entire economic system is based on this concept. When a couple wants to celebrate a special occasion, they may decide to go to an expensive restaurant; when a person takes a special vacation, they may go to a warm, sunny island somewhere in the south pacific. Given the high cost of these things, we refer to them as "special." A "special trip" or a "special occasion" is usually grounds for an especially large withdrawal from the savings account. And since most things that are special tend to be happy occasions, it's not a big leap to go from equating a special occasion with the spending of large amounts of money to the possession of large amounts of money being the basis for gaining happiness.
This can't be too foreign of a concept, I trust. I mean, how much money do we really need to survive? Food, water, and a roof over our head could easily be had for around $500 a month if we were willing to adopt a low standard of living. So why aren't more of us choosing to make $6,000 a year? We are driven to make more and more money, so that we can do and have more and more things. We may come close, but few of us are ever really entirely satisfied with what we have. Of course that next big purchase we make will undoubtedly allow us to be completely satisfied--until we actually get it, that is. Then and only then we realize that we somehow forgot about that one other thing we need to really be completely satisfied in life . . . once we have that, then we'll be truly happy . . .
The problem with the quest for long-term happiness is that we never quite make it. We think we know where to find it, but we never do. Our friend the Philosopher spent a great deal of time searching for the illusive sense of long-term satisfaction beyond the short-term happiness that could be found in alcohol (v.3), accomplishments at work (v.4-6), power (v.7), money (v.8a), entertainment (v.8b), sex (v.8c), status (v.9a), and wisdom (v.9b). Most of us haven't had the "pleasure" of enjoying each of these things in excess, so we probably can't completely understand the Philosopher when he says: "Then I thought about all that I had done and how hard I had worked doing it, and I realized that it didn't mean a thing. It was like chasing the wind--of no use at all." (v.11). Though he had plenty of everything the world could offer him, he could not find long-term satisfaction in anything. His conclusion? "The best thing a man can do is eat and drink and enjoy what he has earned. And yet . . . even this comes from God." (v.24).
It's interesting to see how little has changed in terms of human nature over the last 3,000 years. Most people in modern western cultures are still pursuing the same things their ancestors were thousands of years before them: alcohol, accomplishments, power, money, entertainment, sex, status and wisdom are still the primary means by which most people seek to enjoy happiness. But has anyone in all that time really found long-term satisfaction or purpose in any of these things? Not that I know of. Though they seem alluring to those of us who haven't experienced them, many who have would likely caution us against basing our lives on the pursuit of them. So where does that leave us? Should we quit our job, sell our possessions, and deny ourselves every comfort of life? No, of course not--the point I think lies in recognizing our labor under the sun as a means not an end in itself. There must be a greater purpose to work than merely to satisfy our own selfish desires. If work is only a means to allow us to kick back and relax, why work? I'm reminded of the story of the rich industrialist who came across a simple fisherman who grasped this great philosophical truth. The rich man was quite perturbed to see the fisherman sitting back with his feet up next to his boat on a sunny afternoon. "Why aren't you out there fishing?" he demanded.
"Because I've caught enough fish for the day," replied the fisherman.
"Why don't you catch more fish?" asked the rich man.
"What would I do with them?"
"You could earn more money," said the rich man who was becoming more impatient, "and buy a better boat so you could go deeper and catch more fish. You could purchase nylon nets, catch even more fish and make more money. Then you could buy more boats and could hire others to help you fish. Soon you'd have a fleet of boats and would be rich like me!"
"Then what would I do?"
"You could sit down and enjoy life," said the industrialist.
"What do you think I'm doing now?" replied the fisherman as he gazed out toward the sea.
Indeed there is more to life than work, but although we recognize this truth, most of us are a lot more like the rich industrialist than the simple fisherman. In the industrialist we see how the pursuit of wealth is an endless task; in the fisherman we see how great wealth is not a prerequisite for satisfaction and fulfillment. And this, I think is the fundamental truth. It's not that "money can't buy you happiness" but rather, "you don't need money to be happy." Nor power, nor accomplishments, nor any of those other things. Happiness lies outside of things we work for. It's not that we shouldn't work, it's just that it's useless to pursue happiness through work, or through what work can provide for us. I think the key to happiness lies in that "secret" of being content in all situations that the apostle Paul spoke about in his letter to the Philippians (Phil 4:11-12). Contentment is a learned quality--and for those who master it, they gain something that no amount of riches can ever purchase.
"Everything that happens in this world happens at the time God chooses." (Eccl 3:1)
THE PASSAGE FOUND in verses 2-8 of this chapter are perhaps the most widely known of the entire book. They have appeared in books, songs, lectures, and sermons. We can see there is a time for all things, although we also recognize that much of that "timing" is beyond our control. We had no choice as to when we would be born, and assuming our desire to live, will have little impact on how long we will continue to do so. The world continues to turn, and in a sense, we're simply "along for the ride." It's not that we lack the freedom to do as we choose, but rather, we lack the control of the circumstances around us. As a result, our lives become largely reactive. Chuck Knox, the former Seattle Seahawks coach, spoke often after a loss of being only able to "play the hand we're dealt." This same concept can be applied to almost any aspect of our lives, good or bad. A better analogy might be that of people driving their cars down some major highway. Each person behind the wheel has the freedom to do whatever he or she wants--a driver can go fast, or slow, or not at all. (Those that drive slow, however, will invariably do so in the passing lane.) Each person can continue driving along the same road, or can turn off onto a different one at any time. The driver of every car has complete control of it. The person can swerve left and right, drive on the median, or go for miles in reverse--the choice is theirs. There are only two limiting factors on any of these cars: the longevity of its parts and the amount of available paths on which it can drive. When an accident occurs or the car finally becomes worn out, it may be left by the side of the road. For us, this would be the failing or death of our own bodies--either by accident or natural causes. While the car is "alive" it may travel anywhere the driver chooses. The limiting factor here is the number of available paths. If I wanted to drive from Seattle to New York, I could not simply turn left out my driveway and continue straight on until I saw the Statue of Liberty. I would have to choose between different paths several times along the way in order to reach the city. For us, this is rarely a problem because we are able to navigate with the help of signs and maps. But what if we lacked a map, and had only to rely on a few sparsely placed signs along the way? And this is the point of timing in life: we may know where we want to go, but we really don't know for certain how to get there. So the best we can do is to drive down the paths which we think will enable us to reach our various destinations. We can take any road we choose, but only time will tell as to whether we reach our destination or wind up somewhere else. In the end we find that we are at the mercy of two things: the future (of which we know nothing), and whatever it is we use to navigate by--whether intuition, goals, principles, desires, faith, guesswork, or nothing at all.
It is here that we begin to see one of life's many paradoxes. Our lives on this earth are undeniably finite--yet we long for what every civilization since the beginning of time has sought--an eternal existence. We have been built for eternity (v.11a), but are bound by time so we can't understand or comprehend what eternity is. The world we find ourselves in is too big for us, and yet the things it offers us are too small. We find ourselves starving for food amidst a garden of ripe fruit--each piece satisfying, but no amount able to satiate our hunger.
"The oppressed were crying, and no one would help them . . ." (Eccl 4:1b)
TOWARD THE END of chapter three and through chapter six, the Philosopher focuses on many injustices of the world. The Philosopher, like David in the Psalms, was troubled by the fact that many wicked people prosper--often at the expense of the righteous. People, organizations, and governments with power at their disposal are able to oppress those who lack it. And those without power seek to gain whatever modicum of power they can.
The basis for much of the power is of course in riches, and the basis for the riches is in work. Some may not work for their riches, as would be the case in a generous inheritance, but that wealth is still a result of work--in that case, work by an ancestor. The Philosopher puts his finger on a primary motivation for all of this hard work: envy (4:4). We seek to get what others have, and hard work is our means of getting it. How fascinating to realize that thieves are motivated by the exact same thing we are--the desire to get what someone else has. The only difference between us and criminals are the means by which we get what we want--whether honest or dishonest. The underlying problem is envy--for the criminal it manifests itself in theft; for the law-abiding citizen it can be seen in toil and hard work.
This endless toil and hard work apart from enjoyment forms the "serious injustice" which the Philosopher refers to at the start of the sixth chapter. Earlier he writes of a man who has no family and hence no one to support, but still works as though there was no end to his toil. "For whom is he working so hard and denying himself any pleasure?" asks the Philosopher. I recall having a leisurely lunch with a friend one day. Time seemed to pass quickly as we sat talking about various things. About that time my friend called my attention to a man who was sitting a few tables away. I looked behind me to see a young man in his 30's busily talking on his cellular phone while typing on a laptop computer, glancing at his pager, and hastily eating his food--all at the same time. My friend and I both shook our heads in disbelief as we both asked the same question: "for whom is he working so hard . . . ?" I wonder. But then again, for whom am I working so hard?
" . . . A wise person thinks about death." (Eccl 7:4)
PERHAPS THE MOST IMPORTANT questions in life do not begin with "how" but rather, with "why?" The question of how this world was created pales in comparison to the question of why it was created. How I came to exist is insignificant in comparison to why I came to exist. But we need not even look at such profound questions--which is more significant, how I bought my car or why I bought my car? The former deals with mechanics and procedure; the later with reason and purpose. The "why" questions are significant, but few people wish to talk or even think about them.
Our society is and probably forever will be, a death-denying culture. We all know down deep that we could die today, but we choose to live our lives as if we will live forever. In every aspect of our life the prospect of death is ignored or disregarded. But the realization of death still remains and proves to be one of the driving forces behind our materialistic society. "You only go around in life once" is used to rationalize any number of things we may do, say, or get. For individuals living in this death-denying society, life then becomes a kind of morbid race--the goal being to gain and experience as much as one can before death comes to end it all.
During World War II, the Japanese attacked allied forces using "kamikaze" pilots. These pilots, who believed in the Shinto philosophy of honorable death in battle, would commit suicide by flying their bomb-laden planes into allied sea targets. I recall seeing a documentary on television which showed the kamikaze pilots as they climbed into their planes. Once they were situated, workers would permanently seal the cockpits closed prior to their departure. The planes were given only enough fuel for a one-way journey from the ship to the target. The fate of the kamikaze pilots was sealed before they left the ground. As I watched the documentary, I couldn't help but wonder what must have been going through the minds of the young soldiers I saw on the screen. Certainly they must have thought about what was going to happen to them, but I imagine that they bravely shut out any inkling of death from their minds, choosing instead to focus on the mission at hand. How closely this seems to parallel our lives. We are, in a sense, kamikazes too. Our being has been permanently sealed inside of our bodies and we've only been given enough fuel to make it for a hundred or so years--if we're lucky. Death awaits us all, but we--perhaps like the kamikaze pilots--choose not to think about it, but rather the mission at hand: that big project at work . . . our vacation plans for next month . . . that term paper due Tuesday. So many things on our minds, we really haven't time to think about death--and besides, who wants to think about it anyway? But failing to think about death usually means failing to think about life. Perhaps that's why the Philosopher tells us that ". . . the living should always remind themselves that death is waiting for us all." (v.2b)
" I realized another thing, that in this world fast runners do not always win the races, and the brave do not always win the battles." (Eccl. 9:11a)
"LIFE AIN'T FAIR." Well that shouldn't be too great of a revelation for most of us. This universal truth is perhaps one of the earliest philosophical notions communicated to a toddler or infant. I don't know how many times I heard those words or ones similar to them growing up. They were usually spoken on the heels of what I viewed to be a grave injustice. Suffice it to say, I found the reminder of life's unfairness to be a very small condolence. The desire for justice, if not innate, is certainly acquired at a very early age. It is also a value which is constantly reinforced by every conceivable means. One need only turn on their television set in prime time to see an excellent example of this. In almost any kind of show, in the end, some modicum of justice or happiness is meted out. Hollywood screenwriters know that the viewing public becomes ill at ease when the "good guys" lose and so countless "happy endings" to just about any conceivable predicament have been broadcast to millions since the dawn of television broadcasting. Oh that life could parallel television.
But of course we know that life isn't fair. As the Philosopher noted, " . . .sometimes righteous men get the punishment of the wicked, and wicked men get the reward of the righteous . . . " (8:14). How that makes us cringe--except of course, when we are the ones receiving the reward! In the following chapter the Philosopher boldly proclaims that "a good man is no better off than a sinner . . . one fate comes to all alike, and this is as wrong as anything that happens in this world." (9:2b-3). Whether righteous or wicked, we will all share a common end. Death will level the righteous and wicked alike. And since the world is often loathe to reward individuals for righteousness, one might well ask, "why then be righteous?" Why indeed, if our actions go unchecked. Earlier the Philosopher asks rhetorically, "Why do people commit crimes so readily?" The answer: "Because crime is not punished quickly enough." (8:11). When punishment is swift and sure it can be a very effective deterrent; when slow and uncertain, it has the opposite effect.
So why doesn't God intervene? This is one of the questions that consumed a great deal of the Philosopher's time (9:1). "I realized that you could stay awake night and day and never be able to understand what God is doing," he writes (8:16b-17). This is normally the point where someone will ask, "If God is good, how can he let all of these bad things happen?" I'm reminded of the time when Jesus and his disciples sent messengers ahead to a Samaritan village they were planning on visiting. When they were rebuffed by the Samaritans, James and John asked Jesus, "Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?" (Luke 9:54, NIV). How often we would like to be the purveyor of God's wrath, but how terrible a condition we would be in if the same standards we applied to others were applied to us! (Matthew 7:2). The Bible doesn't tell us what Jesus said to James and John, only that he turned and rebuked them. I can imagine he might have said something like, "I'd be careful about calling down fire from Heaven if I were you--you might find a few coals with your name on them!" The answer to why God doesn't appear to intervene on behalf of the righteous might have something to do with the fact that there are no righteous people to be found! The Bible tells us that, "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23, NIV). Since God's standard is perfection, and the "wages of sin is death" (Romans 6:23a), we're all basically in the same boat. What we see as "righteousness" from our perspective is stained with wickedness from God's point-of-view. Apart from God's "gift" of forgiveness (Rom 6:23b, 10:9, 10:13), we appear only as differing shades of depravity.
So perhaps we'll decide it best to hold off on calling down fire from Heaven, lest the flames consume us as well.
"Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again." (Eccl. 11:1, NIV)
THE VERSE YOU SEE ABOVE is one of my favorite and has been the basis for many choices I have made over the years. The verse refers to those who were active in seaborne or foreign trade at the time--those who engaged in it risked much, but many found great prosperity. In this chapter we see the Philosopher begin to turn from his commentary on the world to some practical advice for living in it. How fascinating that his first words are essentially, "Don't play it safe!" In other words, take risks!
In a world of insurance policies, calculated risks, and "better safe than sorry," it's rare to hear anyone advocating taking chances of any kind. But how often we exchange incredible experiences for unrealistic fears or worries. How many times we forgo what could have been a life changing event because the associated risks seemed too great at the time. The fear of taking risks is an insidious worry, in part because it is so appealing. We convince ourselves that no risks = no difficulties, no chance of failure, or no worry. But while this may be true at times, there is a terribly high price to pay for this shallow security. The reality is inescapable: no risks = no rewards, plain and simple. Either we cast our bread on the water or we sit and watch it mold in our hands--the choice is up to us.
Life is all about taking risks. Of course there are no guarantees of prosperity when we take chances; in fact, we may fail miserably. But in the final analysis, is there really any difference between failing at something and having never tried it? The only thing lost is time, and that's something which is passing anyway. Now is the time to take risks! As the Philosopher wisely points out: "If you wait until the wind and the weather are just right, you will never plant anything and never harvest anything." (v.4) Isn't that the truth! If we wait until we "have time" to do something, we never will. The "perfect opportunity" to begin something is now--while we still can.
"Young people, enjoy your youth . . ." (Eccl. 11:9a)
TWO INCIDENTS, a year or two apart, permanently changed my perspective on what it meant to be young. The first came a couple years back at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. I had just returned from a trip to the east coast, and on my way out of the baggage claim. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an old man pushing a cart with a large trunk and several pieces of luggage down the ramp to the street where a car was waiting for him. His cart was off-balance, and despite his best efforts to maintain control of it, he simply lacked the strength and coordination to keep the cart from tipping over. A second later, both the man and his cart had tumbled over, spilling the contents of the cart across the sidewalk. I quickly dropped my bags and rushed over to the man, who was picking himself off the ground. I grabbed his large trunk and carried it out to the curb where his chagrined family was waiting for him in the car. The old man thanked me and I assured him it was no problem. But what he said next caught me completely off-guard. In a voice mixed with cheerful nostalgia and painful regret he said, "when I was your age, I used to help the old folks carry their bags too." As I stood near the curb and watched the car with the old man drive away the realization began to sink in--that old man would be me in 50 years.
It was many months later--in a different place in a different city that I happened to meet up with another old man. A friend introduced me to him as he pulled up in his flashy new sports car. It wasn't until he slowly emerged from the car that his age became evident. I don't recall exactly what we spoke of, only that he was a fun person who had us smiling and laughing as we spoke. At some point during our conversation, the man inquired about my age--at that time, I was twenty years old. When I told him this, his expression suddenly changed as he gazed off into the distance, "Oh what I'd give to be twenty again!" he exclaimed.
Two incidents, two places, two men. But both with the same message for me, a message which was profound, but easily missed--common knowledge, but seldom fully realized. For me, this was a message from the future. As a young person now, I have the opportunity to act in foresight on the wisdom given me in hindsight. Now is my chance to do the things I might not be able to do later. Or, as the Philosopher put it:
Be happy while you are still young. Do what you want to do, and follow your heart's desire. But remember that God is going to judge you for whatever you do. Don't let anything worry you or cause you pain. You aren't going to be young very long. (v.9b-10)
Could it be that there's a whole lot less expected of us than we think? How easy it is to slip into the daily grind of things to do, places to go, and people to see. We're far too busy to "do what we want to do" . . . or are we? Could it be that the limits we place on ourselves are artificial? The boundaries arbitrary? The restrictions unnecessary?
The advice to follow our heart's desire is of course tempered by the reminder of God's ultimate judgement (v.9). This promise of judgement may appear to encroach upon the absolute freedom to do what we want to do, but in reality, it is the specter of judgement which provides us freedom. Apart from a boundary of some kind, freedom cannot exist. Only with the promise of judgement can we enjoy living within the boundaries set by the Creator. Without judgement there is little point in doing good, being healthy, or enjoying life.
So I guess the wisdom to be gained here is that we should all enjoy the benefits of youth while we still can. And that is a principle that applies to people of all ages. I recall listening to an older friend of mine as he expressed his disillusionment over his aging body. "I've treated my body right all these years," he lamented, "and now it's starting to let me down." He seemed rather surprised at the declining condition of his body. The Philosopher too seems to have been disheartened by the prospect of failing health, for he tells young people:
So remember your Creator while you are still young, before those dismal days and years come when you will say, "I don't enjoy life." That is when the light of the sun, the moon, and the stars will grow dim for you, and the rain clouds will never pass away. Then your arms, that have protected you, will tremble, and your legs, now strong, will grow weak. Your teeth will be too few to chew your food, and your eyes too dim to see clearly. Your ears will be deaf to the noise of the street. You will barely be able to hear the mill as it grinds or music as it plays, but even the song of a bird will wake you from sleep. You will be afraid of high places, and walking will be dangerous. Your hair will turn white; you will hardly be able to drag yourself along, and all desire will be gone. (12:1-5a)
Indeed, health is one thing we can never take for granted. It's said that our body begins to suffer the negative affects of aging during the teenage years. It's "downhill from there," so to speak. A few months back I saw the interview on television of a woman who was about to be given a lung transplant. "There's so many things I've wanted to do," she mourned, "if I get through this, nothing will hold me back!" What a shame she didn't realize that sooner. For us, I think the lesson should be not to allow anything to hold us back--not now, not ever. We should endeavor to not allow fear, inhibition, uncertainty, hesitation, or procrastination to keep us from following our heart's desire. The only thing that should temper our actions now is the prospect of God's eventual judgment--anything else will lead us down the path of eventual regret.
" . . . here is the conclusion of the matter . . ." (Eccl.12:13, NIV)
IT WAS A TERRIBLY typical day. Typical, average, common, and ordinary. Nothing special or different about it--which made the news of a young co-worker's death all the more shocking when I was informed of it that day. The sudden and devastating news of death never loses its sting. The Philosopher spoke wisely of the reality of death:
...We are going to our final resting place, and there will be mourning in the streets. The silver chain will snap, and the golden lamp will fall and break; the rope at the well will break, and the water jar will be shattered. Our bodies will return to the dust of the earth, and the breath of life will go back to God who gave it to us. (v.5-7)
The silver cord will someday snap and the lamp broken into pieces. Suddenly, and often without warning, our dust will return to the ground and life will be no more. In a society which seeks daily to deny the reality of death, the sudden news of an untimely passing serves as a momentary glimpse into the reality of our frail existence. It appears only for a moment before it can be drown out by the sounds of a world which does not want to admit that any one of us could be next.
Of the many thoughts which passed through my mind after I heard of my co-worker's untimely passing, one which seemed to persist was the curiosity as to what this person might have thought had he been told a week ago that the end was near. It was so unexpected, he would have undoubtedly been as shocked and surprised as those who knew him would be on hearing the news the following week. On that day, the shockwaves of death sent a wake-up call to all of those who knew him.
Before it can be pushed from our minds, the troubling realization that life offers no guarantees strikes an off-key in our otherwise perfectly played renditions of life. We lock out the truth before it can impact us--and so we don't ask the difficult questions. We don't prepare for that which we convince ourselves is far, far away. We avoid thinking or talking to others about it. Which is probably why we too never see it coming.
And so we reach the end. "After all this, there is only one thing to say," writes the Philosopher, "Have reverence for God and obey his commands, because this is all that man was created for. God is going to judge everything we do, whether good or bad, even things done in secret." (v.13-14). Having peeled away every useless aspect of our lives, the Philosopher at last discovers the one thing that has meaning: reverence and obedience to God. From the world's perspective this seems foolish--and if our existence consists of only this life, the world is quite correct. The apostle Paul would later write, "If our hope in Christ is good for this life only and no more, then we deserve more pity than anyone else in all the world." (1 Cor 15:19).
So where does this leave us? It seems that we can progress no further without a step of faith. Either we believe that this life is all there is, or we believe that there is life beyond the grave. If our entire existence consists of this world and this world alone, then we would do well to eat, drink, and be merry (1 Cor 15:32b) while we can. But if there is more to life than life itself, then our lives now are but a speck in the eyes of eternity--then, the most important thing we can do in this short and useless life is to discover and enter into a relationship with the God that created it. But the decision is ours--only we can decide what to believe in. We must seek the truth--and the truth will set us free (John 8:32).
"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." (Matt. 7:7-8, NIV)