Transcript
Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the inaugural lecture of Professor Choon Leong Seow as the Henry Snyder Gehman Professor of Old Testament Language and Literature here at Princeton Theological Seminary. Dr. Seow was born and raised in Singapore. He received his bachelor's degree from Pepperdine University in Malibu, California, his Master of Divinity from Princeton Theological Seminary, and his PhD. from Harvard University. He began his teaching career as a lecturer in Hebrew at Harvard before
joining the Princeton Seminary faculty in 1983. He was promoted to full professor and assigned to the newly endowed Henry Snyder Gehman Chair in Old Testament Language and Literature in July of 1995. It is interesting to note that Dr. Seow, as a student here in 1979, received the Henry Snyder Gehman Award in Old Testament, so he has really come home. Dr. Seow is co-editor of Princeton's Hebrew Lexicon Project. He's the author of "A Grammar for Biblical
Hebrew", now in its second edition, "Myth, Drama, and the Politics of David's Dance", and "Ecclesiastes", a commentary which is now in press. Most recently, he edited "Homosexuality and Christian Community", published this year by Westminster John Knox Press. He has several works in progress, actually six in number, including a commentary on First and Second Kings for the New Interpreter's Bible. He is an elder in the Presbyterian Church, USA. He has held numerous ecclesial and professional positions and
engaged in many such activities, including preaching and teaching in churches, an average of 15 weekends each year, and serving as a member of the Executive Committee of the Society of Biblical Literature as President of the Ethnic Chinese Biblical Colloquium. Princeton Seminary is honored to have one of such stature as a member of its faculty, and it is my pleasure to introduce him to you on this wonderful occasion. His inaugural address is entitled, "The Socio-Economic Context
of the Preacher's Hermeneutic". Please join me in greeting Professor Leong Seow. Thank you very much. President Gillespie, my teachers, colleagues and friends, the author of Ecclesiastes, known to us traditionally as the Preacher, or by his Hebrew designation, Kohelet, is commanded in the epilogue of the book as a sage. He taught people knowledge and, we gather, brought them on with the words of the wise. He listened and deliberated and worked with many Proverbs. Yet, it is clear
he did not merely cite the traditions. On this, scholars are agreed, Kohelet was neither a regurgitator nor a traditionalist. Rather, in the words of the epilogue, Kohelet tried to find felicitous words, and he wrote words of truth rightly. According to this assessment, the author both wrestled with traditional materials and attempted to communicate his thoughts appropriately in and to his generation. Much scholarly disputation thus far has revolved around the issue of Kohelet's relationship to the traditions. Was
he orthodox or radical? Was he steeped in the wisdom tradition, or was he anti-wisdom? Was he influenced by the pessimistic literature of Mesopotamia or Egypt, or were his thoughts shaped by various Greek philosophical schools? The focus of scholarship has largely been on the literary background of the book, rather than its socio-historical context. Indeed, Michael V. Fox maintains Kohelet's complaints do not reflect specific historical social conditions. Depending on how one reads the text and what
putative parallels one finds then, Kohelet is considered to be either the quintessential pessimist or an incurable optimist. The authors' hermeneutics and rhetoric are accounted for in terms of antecedent religious traditions and or his own religious temperament or his psyche, which is sometimes judged to be not a very stable one. This is how most scholars have tended to account for the thoughts of Kohelet. What I'd like to do today is to shift our attention from the literary
and traditio-historical questions, worthy questions though they are, to the issue of the book's social-historical setting. Specifically, I want to explore the socio-economic context in which Kohelet thought and to consider how that particular environment might have shaped his hermeneutics. One cannot, of course, speak of the socio-historical context of a book without first saying something, if only briefly, about its date. We may begin by observing that a broad consensus has emerged since the Dutch
polymath Grotius first argued that the language of the book points to a date long after Solomon. The judgment of Franz Delitzsch on this matter reflects the opinion of a majority of modern scholars. If the book of Kohelet were of old Solomonic origin, Delitzsch observed over a century ago, then there is no history of the Hebrew language. Even Princeton's William Henry Green, always a staunch and formidable defender of orthodox views, concurred, if only very reluctantly, that the
linguistic evidence for a late date is decisive. Primarily on linguistic grounds, then, most scholars now date the book to the post-exilic period. The existence of two Persian loanwords in the book suggests a date no earlier than 450 BCE, since there are no Persianisms in the Bible prior to the second wave of returnees to Palestine. The frequency of Aramaisms in the book would also place it in the post-exilic period, when Aramaic became the lingua franca
in Palestine, the common language used in commerce and administration. More specifically, there are a number of terms in Ecclesiastes not found in pre-exilic or exilic Hebrew, but are paralleled by a cluster of cognates in Aramaic documents precisely from the 5th and early 4th centuries. The Semitic root, šlṭ, is used repeatedly in Ecclesiastes in the economic and legal sense to have proprietary rights, to have the right of disposal of income and assets. This is a technical
usage found in the Persian period, but not later. The probable Persian period dating is also corroborated by the fact that there are no Greek loanwords, indeed no Grecisms whatsoever in the book. By contrast, in Daniel, the final form of which is dated to the Hellenistic period, several Greek loanwords are recognized. In short, the language of Ecclesiastes is post-exilic, but it also seems to be pre-Hellenistic. Certainly, it is not to be classified with the Hebrew,
the later Hebrew of Ben Sira, Qumran, Wadi Murabba'at, Nahal Hever and the Bar Kochba letters. Rather, it has greatest affinities with the Persian period books of Ezra, Nehemiah, Chronicles, and Esther. In terms of a typology of language, then, Ecclesiastes belongs to the second half of the 5th century and the first half of the 4th, that is roughly 450 to 350 BCE. The language of the book represents the literary deposit of the everyday Hebrew of post-exilic Palestine with
its large number of Aramaisms and whatever jargons and vernacular elements of the marketplace. That is the linguistic evidence for the date of the book. But what was it about that period, that environment, that occasioned Kohelet's message? What do we know about socio-economic conditions of the period that may help us understand Kohelet's pessimism and or optimism, indeed, his theology? We note first the unprecedented use of money in the Persian economy. The Persian administration instituted a highly
efficient system of taxation throughout the empire, according to which imperial taxes were ordinarily to be paid in precious metal. And then, to facilitate both trade and the payment of taxes, the government began minting coins and standardizing currency. Under Darius I of the Achaemenid dynasty, a gold coin known as a "Daric" was first struck in the year 515 BCE, or the local authorities were permitted to mint other coins in various denominations. Hence, in Palestine, coins began appearing
during the Achaemenid period, although they did not become common until the second half of the 5th century. And numerous hordes of coins have been found at various sites in Israel, all dating to the second half of the 5th century or later. Now, it is not that money in the generic sense was unknown in earlier periods, for silver pieces in various forms and sizes were already used as a medium of exchange in earlier times. Yet the standardization
of currency and the introduction of coinage by the Persian government democratized the usage of money and radically transformed the economy of the Levant. Not surprisingly, therefore, the epigraphic inscriptional material from this era suddenly showed a great deal of concern with money. Inscriptions from the period are replete with references to money, most frequently mentioned in connection with taxes, wages, rents, loans, fines, dowries, divorce payments, inheritances, and, of course, the prices of goods and services. Money was used
in everyday business transactions, both large and small, given as gifts and bribes and hoarded. Money was no longer just a convenient medium of exchange, it seems. It had become a commodity. Although people began to continue to barter their wares and services, for the purposes of taxation and business transactions, goods and services were typically assessed monetary values. Money had become the yardstick by which the relative worth of commodities and services was measured. The development and growth of
this monetary economy provide a specific socio-economic context within which to interpret a number of sayings in Ecclesiastes. Kohelet says, quote, one who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor whoever loves abundance with yield, unquote. Clearly, money had become a desired commodity, something that in and of itself gives people satisfaction. This was something new in the Levant. The author also alludes to popular sayings about the power of money. Thus, in 712, he seems to
have turned a popular notion about the power of money into an instruction about money's ephemerality. In this text, the Hebrew saying may be interpreted in two ways, either meaning wisdom is a protection, money is a protection, or wisdom is a shadow, a shade, money is a shadow. Whereas the saying could be taken, perhaps had been taken, to mean that wisdom and money both provide security, protection, Hebrew zeal. Kohelet means to say that money is zeal only
in the sense of a shadow, a shade, a temporary relief at best. The people whom Kohelet addressed were preoccupied with the acquisition of money. They believed in its power, thinking that, quote, money answers everything. So we read in 1019. There can be no doubt that Ecclesiastes presumes an audience that is deeply concerned with economic matters. Besides terms like money, riches, the rich, private property, salary, inheritance, and success, one finds a concentration of terms that suggest a
lively commercial environment, surplus, or net gain, deficit, account, assets, yield, wealth, business, toil, consumer, employee, lot, or share. Indeed, Kohelet often sounds like a pragmatic entrepreneur ever concerned with the bottom line. Thus, regarding the value of labor, his question is always this: mah-yitron. What is the yitron? What's the advantage, surplus, net gain? He repeatedly uses the word yitron, net gain, which is related to Aramaic ytrn, a term found on an accounting document from the late
5th century BCE. Kohelet is talking about the net gain of an investment, and any merchant to understand his point. If there is no net gain from an investment, one probably should not waste resources. Ecclesiastes reflects an economic environment that is different from the largely subsistence agrarian culture of pre-exilic and exilic Judah. Indeed, the Persian period is distinguished from the preceding epochs by the widespread use of money and the unprecedented growth of commerce. This extensive commercialization
of post-exilic Palestine is partly documented by archaeological evidence. The coastal areas saw a sharp rise in population, perhaps indicating the increasing importance of international trade. In a survey of the coastal region of Sharon, scholars found at least 12 Persian period sites, five in the vicinity of 'Adit alone. As archaeologist Ephraim Stern observes, it is difficult to imagine a more populous area. Similarly, telling clues are found at other sites along the coast. Excavations at T ell Dor suggest
that the city was a major seaport during that period, as evidenced by a number of large storage jars found there, along with the most impressive assemblage of imported ceramic wares found anywhere in Israel. In the same Persian period stratum, archaeologists have found evidence of thriving textile and textile dye manufacturing industries. Recent re-excavations of Tell Abu Hawam, the original harbour town of Haifa, have led to the conclusion that there was an important regional granary and centre
of maritime trade during the Persian period. At Tell Shiqmona, where there had been a town with paved streets in the 5th century, a subterranean storehouse containing scores of storage jars has been uncovered. Further south in Ashkelon, a series of street-front workshops and other public buildings have been found, including a large warehouse with six store rooms on the first floor, each room having 250 square feet of interior storage space. In the coastal regions of Carmel and
Sharon, in site after site, one finds evidence of dramatic economic growth. Again, as Ephraim Stone notes, perhaps for the first time in the history of the region, all the cities and towns flourished simultaneously. The areas they occupied and the population density expanded significantly. All along the coast of Palestine then are signs of a rapidly expanding mercantile economy. But there is evidence of commerce inland as well. Foreign coins and imported wares are common among the artifacts found
everywhere in Palestine in the 5th and early 4th centuries, indicating that in this period, international trade penetrated deep into the hinterland. Storage jars designed for the transportation of goods, which hitherto tended to be concentrated along the coast and have been found underwater, have also been uncovered at several inland sites, suggesting that agrarian products from the inland were being exported. According to the book of Nehemiah, Jerusalem in the 5th century was a thriving marketplace where the Judeans,
even during Shabbat, worked in the wine presses, brought in heaps of grain, loaded animals with goods and hawked the agricultural products and sold food, while resident aliens from Tyre brought fish and various kinds of merchandise. Competition from the Gentile immigrants living in the city apparently prompted the Jews to disregard the Shabbat injunction. The merchants must have felt that they could not take a day off a week. Indeed, when Governor Nehemiah ordered the city gates to be
closed for Shabbat, some merchants actually came outside the city to wait for the market to open. That was the kind of competitive commercial atmosphere in 5th century Jerusalem. Such a lively and competitive economic environment is presumed in Ecclesiastes. That was a period of tremendous opportunities, but also great risks. It was a time both for optimism and pessimism. The Persians instituted a system of property grants, under which rights over land and various other properties were given to
favoured individuals. Most generous were the royal grants, given outright to relatives, friends and favourites of the king. The recipients of such grants collected taxes for the crown, but they were entitled to retain a sizeable portion of the revenues. The grantees also typically further subdivided their lots to those whom they favoured, in return for annual dues. One recipient of such grants was Arsham, the Persian satrap of Egypt. In an Aramaic letter, one learns that a grant had
been given to a manager of Arsham's estates in Egypt by the satrap from a portion of his own royal grant. When this manager died, he was succeeded in his position by his son, who wrote to the satrap requesting that the privilege be transferred to him. And so Arsham sent a letter to his lieutenant, giving the son the legal authority, the slyt, to take up the grant. In this text, it is clear that the grant was not
automatically transferable to one's heirs. The successor had to be given the slyt, the legal right of proprietorship. The Persian system of royal grants provides a backdrop against which to understand Kohelet's rhetoric. Say, it's Kohelet in 518 to 19. Here is what I've observed is good for humanity, that it is appropriate to eat, drink, and enjoy in all their toil that they toil under the sun during the few days of their lives which God has given them,
for this is their portion. Indeed, to all people, God has given wealth and assets, and God has authorized them to partake of them, to take up their portion, and to have pleasure in their toil. This is the grant of God. Kohelet presents life's possibilities in terms of such grants. The deity has granted humanity in general certain gifts, including wealth and assets, and the recipients of this favor are authorized to exercise proprietorship over this divine grant. Indeed,
the Hebrew expression, is comparable to the Aramaic formula of royal grants found in the 5th century documents. In this view, life is like a portion that one receives as a grant from the divine ruler. Life is like a lot that is limited in time and space. In this limited lot, the grantee toils, but it is also possible to enjoy the fruits of one's toil from that very lot. In this divine grant, there is the inevitability of
toil, but there is also the possibility of enjoyment. The divine sovereign may, however, be just as arbitrary as the Persian ruler in issuing of grants. Kohelet speaks of the specific case of someone who is somehow not permitted to enjoy the grant. Whereas for humanity in general, God has given the rights to enjoy, there appears to be specific exceptions where certain individuals are not so privileged. In the case Kohelet cites in 6:2, the privilege of enjoyment
seems to have been given to an outsider and each nokri. Again, one may understand Kohelet's sentiments in the light of the administration of royal grants during the Persian period. There is another Aramaic letter written by Arsham to another manager of his estates in Egypt. One of Arsham's stewards, a man named Petosiri, had written a letter to the satrap. Petosiri's father had been given the rights over a piece of property. The land was abandoned when the father
died during an unrest of some sort, and so the son asked to be considered for the grant that his father had received. Let Arsham take thought of me, Petosiri wrote. Let him give the land to me. The satrap ordered his manager to investigate the case. If the property in question had not been given to someone else, Arsham wrote, then it should be given to Petosiri. But Petosiri must, of course, pay the appropriate taxes in arrears. The
fact that the father had received the grant and the fact that the son was the rightful heir did not mean that the heir was automatically permitted to enjoy the benefits. There was no guarantee that the heir would receive the authorization. It was entirely possible that the property had in fact been given to someone else, someone outside the family, and each nokri, as Ecclesiastes suggests. Besides the grants given outright to those favored by the Crown, there were
lots assigned to various people on condition of military service and the payment of annual dues. The land so acquired were initially not transferable, but in time the proprietors were permitted to sublet upon their lands. The fees were sometimes shared by a number of co-proprietors, with the rights of proprietorship being transferable in each case by inheritance. And through the further division of inheritance, the average size of properties available for economic exploitation became smaller and smaller. The
tenant farmers and workers paid dues to the smallholders whose property they rented, and the smallholders in turn paid dues to those above them, and so on and so forth. The system contributed to the stratification of society, as a number of dependent classes were created. Something of this social stratification is evident in Ecclesiastes, where one finds references to the king, the ruler, the princes, the rich, the proprietors, the commoners, the employee, the poor, and the slaves. Among
the various social classes mentioned in the book are the sallitim, a term that refers to the wealthy land barons of the time. These sallitim, proprietors, were required to pay annual taxes and render military service as needed. In many cases, however, they hired substitutes to fulfill their military obligations. This practice is well documented in contemporaneous texts from Mesopotamia. In one instance, a certain proprietor requested a home-born slave to be his substitute. In return for that service,
the proprietor promised to pay roughly 3600 litres of barley annually, a payment large enough apparently to allow the slave to start a small business. A variety of such contracts for substitute service is found in that period. Although the sending of substitutes into battle had been explicitly forbidden in earlier Babylonian laws, in the free-wheeling economic environment of the Persian Empire, it became a common practice for the rich to hire substitutes, whom they could send to do
their military duty for them and, per chance, to die on their behalf. The poor were willing to bear the responsibilities and the risks for a chance to get out of poverty. The long-standing laws were disregarded in favour of economic pragmatism under the new regime of the Persians with this policy of free enterprise. In light of this background, we are better able to understand Kohelet's polemic against the rich and the powerful. Says Kohelet in 8:8,
There is no one who is a sallit, a proprietor, over the life-breadth, to detain the life-breadth, and there is no proprietorship over the day of death. There is no substitution in the battle, and wickedness will not deliver those who practise it. The medieval Jewish commentator, Rashbam, probably was correct to understand the battle in this context to be a reference to the day of death. That is to say, in the decisive battle that is death,
no one can send a substitute. Or as the Midrash has it, no one can say to the angel of death, Let my son or my slave or my home-born slave go in my place. The point that Kohelet makes is that these proprietors may be rich and powerful, but no one has proprietorship over the life-breadth. No one owns the day of death. No one can detain the life-breadth as one might detain a poor debtor.
When the time comes for one to fight the battle with death, no one can hire a substitute. Kohelet refers to the terrible things done in his generation, which he describes in 8:9 as a time when human beings exercised proprietorship, shalat, over one another. To judge by the usage of the root slt in contemporaneous texts, the author probably has in mind the rampant economic exploitation of that period. Along with the potential for exploitation, there were opportunities
to climb the social-economic ladder, a slippery ladder though it was. Documents from this period show that there were slaves who borrowed substantial sums of money or otherwise accumulated enough wealth to buy their own slaves and participate in all kinds of business ventures. Slaves could borrow money for investment. Some bought real estate or leased property, which could then be rented out or subleased. Some owned or leased workshops, farms, orchards and livestock. It was possible in fact
for slaves to become quite rich. The opportunities certainly were there. From a 5th century archive of the powerful business firm of Murashu and Sons in the city of Nippur, we learn of a certain Ribat, a slave of one of the senior partners of the firm. Ribat, the slave, paid taxes for a public office that he held. He loaned large sums of money and amounts of grains and dates to various individuals. He leased out several workers and
hundreds of sheep and goats, all in the space of a single day. He rented land to others and leased access to a canal. This slave had become a rich entrepreneur. He was an example of a poor person who had become economically quite well off. The evidence points to an environment of high finance, investment and overall economic growth. The growth, however, did not benefit all people equally. To be sure, there were economic opportunities, and it was possible
for some to break out of the cycle of poverty, as Ribat and other slaves did. But the arts were against the ordinary citizen. Often the smallholders had to pay a very high price for their investments. From Egypt of this period, we have a number of documents dealing with loans of various sorts. In general, the amount of cash loan was small, averaging about four to six shekels. But the interest rate for such loans was high, and the
penalty for default extremely severe. In one instance, a woman secured a loan of four shekels at a compound rate of 5% per mensem, 60% per annum. According to another contract, failure to repay the loan on time meant that the loan with its interest was doubled. The interest would be 10% per mensem, 120% per annum. I'm inclined to think of credit card rates these days. Clearly, the demand for money was great. It was
easy to fall into debt. Some people went into debt in order to get rich or to improve their lot, but others did so merely to survive. A fifth-century Aramaic letter provides a glimpse of the economic uncertainties that many families faced. A man who has been away from home writes to his wife and instructs her to sell all his possessions. He writes, If you will sell all my valuables, then the babies may eat. There are no
more coins left. People in such dire straits were forced to sell and borrow just to get by. So we read in the Aramaic Proverbs of Ahiqar from the same period. Borrow the grain and the wheat that you may eat and be satisfied and give to your children with you. Do not take a heavy loan. Moreover, if you do take a loan, do not give yourself rest until you repay the loan. The loan is nice when there's
a need, but the repayment is a household. The text assumes that many people had no choice but to borrow. Although not explicitly stated, we assume the wisdom text here alludes to the extremely high interest rates. In the event of a default, the creditor was entitled to seize the debtor's entire estate, including the debtor's house, slaves, food, and even the children. Repayment would be a household, so to speak. And the liability was extended to the children if
the debtor dies without paying the debt. In Palestine, the Jews faced a similar environment in that period. Their plight is recorded in the Book of Nehemiah. There were those who said, we are mortgaging our fields, our vineyards, our houses, so that we may get grain during the famine. And there were those who said, we have borrowed money for the king's tax upon our fields and our vineyards. Now, we are of the same flesh and blood as
our kin, and our children are as their children. But we are at the point of bringing our sons and our daughters into the bondage of slavery. Indeed, some of our daughters are already enslaved, and we are powerless to do anything about it, for our fields and our vineyards belong to others. It was an unreliable world in which Kohelet and his audience lived. Even those who were rich and powerful could suddenly find themselves impoverished, while those who
were poor could suddenly come into great wealth and prestige. In 10:5, therefore, Kohelet describes a social world turned upside down. There's a sad thing I've observed under the sun, says Kohelet, a veritable mistake stemming from the proprietor. The simpleton is set in great heights, but the rich abide in low estates. I have seen slaves on horses, while princes walk on foot like slaves. Kohelet reflects on the unpredictable world where events seem to spin out of
control, and social order is disrupted. Individuals are vulnerable to all kinds of dangers in that rapidly changing world. At a macro level, there are social, economic, and political forces at work. They are beyond the control of individuals. So the rich and powerful may suddenly lose their positions because of an inevitable error, and some of them find themselves imprisoned. So we read in 4:13 to 4:14. Meanwhile, slaves could be riding on horses. Horses, of course,
were the equivalent of our expensive imported vehicles of transport. At a micro level, too, professionals face everyday occupational hazards. So we read in 10:6 to 7. The hunter who digs a pit to trap animals is liable to fall into one of those pits. The farmer who removes rocks from stone fences is vulnerable to snakes that may lurk in nooks and crannies. One who quarries stones is susceptible to certain industrial accidents, as is the one who
splits wood. There's also the perfumer whose jar of precious product may become ruined by the presence of a single fly. Life can be that lousy. There are risks everywhere and at every level in the economic environment. In 5:13 and following, Kohelet speaks of a man who was so uptight, so afraid of losing his wealth that he hoarded it as a sickening tragedy, says Kohelet, that observed under the sun. Wealth was hoarded by one who possessed
it to his own hurt, and that wealth disappeared in a terrible venture. Then, ironically, he sired a son, but there was nothing in his possession. Just as he came forth from the womb of his mother, so he will return naked, going as he came, and he will carry away nothing for his toil that he may bring in his hand. We do not know what terrible venture caused that man to lose all his wealth. Apparently, he made
a bad business decision and, in consequence, lost everything for which he had toiled. The story illustrates the volatility of the economy that Kohelet's audience knew. They were cognizant of the fact that what they had one moment may be gone the next. Such was the socioeconomic world of Kohelet and his audience. That was a world of money, the love of money, commerce, and investment. It was also a world of loans, mortgages, and foreclosures. For the ordinary citizen,
the smallholder, the homesteader, the worker, there was much about which to worry, but not much about which one could be certain. No doubt the many success stories of those who went from rags to riches, like the case of Reba the slave, must have spurred people to strive for success. But the reality of the Persian period economy is that individuals were caught in the winds of political and economic changes, and most people were helpless in the face
of all that was happening. The discoveries in the cave in Wadi Dalia, about halfway between Samaria and Jericho, provide us with an unforgettable vignette of that era. Archaeologists have uncovered in that cave skeletons of some 200 men, women, and children, along with scores of stamp impressions, the ancient equivalent of credit card imprints, exquisite gold signet rings, the equivalent of credit cards, personal jewelry, and an assemblage of coins. There were also found the now famous Samaria proprietary,
all dating to the final decades of the Persian period, all of which are legal and administrative documents recording various economic transactions. These are the remains of a group of Samarian proprietors who were fleeing the army of Alexander the Great, and who were eventually hunted down and massacred. These proprietors brought their families and all their money, jewelry, and title deeds to various assets. They brought all the legal evidence that they were proprietors over these assets. The word
Shalit recur in these documents. And there in the cave, they perished with all their wealth, a veritable testimony to the truth of what Kohelet taught. No one is a proprietor over death, and no one can send a substitute in that decisive battle. Wealth is to be enjoyed in the present, and people cannot bring their wealth with them when they die, for all is vanity. It was in such an uncertain world that Kohelet reflected on humanity's plight
before God. It was a perplexing new world of rapid political, social, and economic innovations, much of which were initiated and determined in seeds of power that the ordinary citizens of the vast empire could hardly have comprehended. In that context, Kohelet taught people knowledge and applied the goads of wisdom's instruction like a shepherd, a pastor leading a flock. In Kohelet's view, human beings live in a world with no discernible design, no order, despite impressions of orderliness. It
is a world that is full of inconveniences, inconsistencies, and contradictions. Nothing that mortals do or have is ultimately reliable. Not wealth, not pleasure, not wisdom, not toil, not life itself. All is heaven, vanity, literally vapor or breath. It is not that life is meaningless or insignificant, futile or hopeless. That is not what vanity means in this book. Rather, Kohelet's message is that there are no fail-safe rules, no formulas that will guarantee success. There is nothing
that one can hold on to forever. Indeed, Kohelet would concur with the adage that nothing in life is certain except death and taxes. Justice may not be found where one might expect. 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. Social, economic, and political forces are at work, creating uncertainties
to which everyone is subjected. There are dangers in daily life too, as accidents happen even amid life's routines. To be sure, some amount of wisdom may help reduce the risk, but accidents happen nonetheless. This is what life is like under the sun. As Kohelet sees it, people try to cope with the situation of anomie in various ways. They toil, they fret, they are never satisfied with what they have. They accumulate wealth, they hoard it, they long
for more wisdom and understanding. They try to give an accounting of all that is happening in the universe. They endeavor to straighten everything that is crooked, correct every injustice, fill every void. They strive to gain an immortality of sorts through fame, through their progeny, through their wealth, or through their accomplishments. They try everything conceivable to take a hold of the situation and to gain some control, if not to secure an advantage in life. But nothing really
works, since all is havel, vapor, breath, vanity. For Kohelet, humanity is to recognize that nothing can be controlled by mortals. His most persistent counsel, therefore, is to take pleasure in all that one does, even in toil. One should enjoy whenever there is opportunity, because that is humanity's slot. That is the portion that the Divine Sovereign has assigned us. The point is not that one must go through life looking for joy everywhere. Nowhere in the book does
Kohelet say that one should seek pleasure or pursue joy. The issue, rather, is recognition of the fact that human beings, like the ordinary citizens of the Persian Empire, have no control over what will happen. And so one should live the moment, for the moment is all that mortals can hope to know. Unlike the prophets, Ecclesiastes' ethic does not call for social transformation and the elimination of injustice. Yet in the midst of an acquisitive society, his ethic
does require radical change, not of social and political structures, but of attitude towards everything that mortals may covet, material possessions, wisdom, success, esteem, and passion. As emphatic as Kohelet is about the appropriateness of joy, his ethic is ultimately not about joy, as it is about acceptance of the reality that is determined by a sovereign, inscrutable God. So says Kohelet, when times are good, enjoy, literally be in good. When times are bad, see. Yes, God has made
a one just like the other, so that people will not discover anything after them. He was neither a pessimist nor an optimist. Kohelet was a realist. He was a realist addressing society that is both pessimistic and optimistic. He knew that life consisted of the good and the bad. His ethic calls for recognition of the fact that human beings live before a sovereign God, who alone decides what will happen and when. For Kohelet, everything is in the
hand of God. This theological ethic is evident in its admonition regarding the elusiveness of wisdom and righteousness and the inevitability of folly and wickedness. Kohelet does not regard righteousness and wisdom as sure virtues, the possession of which will help one get ahead in life and avert tragedies. People may be wise and righteous and still not be successful. They may in fact suffer the fate of wicked fools. Life is like that. Indeed, no human can be right
on every score. There is no one on earth so righteous who does only good and does not miss the mark, he says in 7:20. Wickedness and folly are inevitable realities of life. Yet there are people who seem to believe that perfect wisdom and righteousness are somehow attainable through sheer will and that the attainment of perfect righteousness and wisdom will somehow assure one of an abundant life. But Kohelet's counsel is that one should neither be too righteous
or wise, nor too wicked or foolish. He even puts the matter in theological terms. It is good that you grasp the one, wisdom, righteousness, but not let go of the other, wickedness, folly, for the one who fears God goes forth with both of them. One who fears God does not presume that it is possible to have only one reality but not the other. That fear of God, which recognizes the inevitability of human shortcomings, is the very
opposite of the hubris of mortals who try to apprehend perfect righteousness and wisdom alone. Only one who does not fear God would dare believe that people can be so wise and so right that they may be in control of their own destiny. For Kohelet, the human being is at best both saddtq and hote, both a righteous one and an offender, simul iustus et peccator. In the New Testament, this theme in Ecclesiastes is picked up by the
Apostle Paul, who speaks of people who have no fear of God before their eyes, by which he means people who think they can be perfectly righteous and so justify themselves. For Paul, it is the impossibility of human righteousness in this sense that necessitates the righteousness of God by grace alone. And Paul makes his case with distinct echoes of Ecclesiastes. There is no one righteous, says Paul, no one who does good. In Paul's theology, since all humans
have literally missed the mark, there is no salvation, no justification, except as a sheer gift of the sovereign God. This is entirely consistent with Kohelet's theological anthropology. Kohelet's audience live in a world where they long to have control. Many, no doubt, live like the poor uptight miser who hoarded his wealth, only to lose it all. They live in fear of what might happen to their fragile world. Yet, despite the uncertainties of their time, Kohelet preached spontaneity
to life's surprises. People should take risks to be generous, even though misfortune may happen. Release your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it. Give a portion to seven or even to eight, even though you do not know what misfortune may come about. This text is not a call to invest abroad or to diversify one's investment portfolio. This is suggested in the NEB. The NEB has it, send your
grain across the seas, in time you will get a return. Divide your merchandise among seven or even eight, since you do not know what disasters may occur on earth. The meaning of the advice is suggested in a parallel, in an Egyptian wisdom text. Do a good deed and throw it in the water. When it dries up, you will find it. Even in difficult times, one should risk throwing away a good deed, so to speak, without expecting
a return. Liberality must not be held in abeyance by one's fear of an unpredictable future. There are risks in life, to be sure, but one cannot refrain from doing good, simply because of the possibility that disasters may happen someday. People ought not look for perfect conditions before they begin to live life to the full. The author elaborates that a farmer who watches the wind will never sow, one who watches the clouds will never harvest. He has
in mind here farmers who are constantly postponing what needs to be done for fear of inclement weather. There are those who will never sow for fear that the wind might be too strong, and there are those who will never reap for fear that rain might destroy their harvest. They are reluctant to take any risks at all because they are always waiting for perfect moments, always looking for the perfect conditions. And we have our equivalents today of
people who cannot begin a day without consulting a horoscope or the Wall Street Journal. But Kohelet reiterates here, as he does elsewhere in the book, that risks are inevitable realities of life, for despite some signs of predictability, the world is still a mystery. The point is further clarified in verse 5. Just as you do not know how the life breath gets into the fetus in the belly of a pregnant woman, so you do not know
the action of God, the one who does everything. Human beings really do not know how nature works. In verse 4, Kohelet uses the Hebrew word ruah to mean wind. And then he uses the same word in verse 5, except that ruah in verse 5 refers to the life breath. He uses the verb yimmale u to become full, to speak of the cloud's saturation in verse 3. And then in verse 5, he uses the unusual word
hammele a, literally the full one, to speak of the pregnant woman. When the clouds are full, one knows it will probably rain, but one does not know what the ruah, the wind, might do. By the same token, when a woman is full, one knows that an infant will probably be born, even though one knows nothing about the mysteries of the ruah, the life breath, how, when or even if the life breath might enter a fetus. The result
is beyond human control. If the ruah as wind is mysterious and unpredictable, so is the ruah as the breath of life. No one knows how the ruah, wind, life breath or spirit behaves. Just so, no one can really predict how God may act. The events of the world are beyond human control. They are part of divine mystery. This is finally the point that Kohelet wants to emphasize. He moves from economics to the elements of nature, to
the wonders of life coming into being, and ultimately to a theology of God's transcendence. Misfortune may come, wind is unpredictable, the life breath is a mystery, and God is inscrutable. Before such a God mortals live, without the ability to control their own destiny. Whatever the true etymology of the name, it appears that Kohelet was a preacher after all. He knew the traditional teachings, but he did not merely impart them as timeless propositions. Rather, like any good
preacher, he was keenly aware of the environment in which his audience found themselves. He employed the vocabulary of his day to address the concerns of his audience. His congregants were preoccupied with all sorts of social and economic issues. The volatility of the economy, the possibility of wealth, inheritance, social status, the fragility of life, and the ever-present shadow of death. Kohelet drew on those concerns and he employed idioms that were familiar to his audience in order
to subvert their preoccupation. Although they live in a new environment with new economic possibilities and dangers, the real issues that they faced were in fact nothing new. There is nothing new under the sun. Others had already wrestled with the issues of life's inconsistencies, contradictions, and absurdities, as is evident in other wisdom traditions. Mortals in every generation and every place had always been and will always be caught in a world that is beyond human control. Life is
like that. Indeed, everything is vanity and all that one possesses must be received only as a gift granted by the sheer grace of the mysterious sovereign. I thank you. Thank you. Thank you very much, Professor Seow. Thank you very, very much for a splendid lecture. There will be now a reception in Dr. Seow's honor. Mrs. Seow will be with him. And the faculty will be there as soon as they've changed back into their civvies. And we
hope that all of you, and especially those of you who have come from a distance to be here, will join us in the private dining room of the Campus Center. Again, Dr. Seow, congratulations upon a very stirring address, we thank you.