This Too is Hebel: Degrees, Jobs, and Everything Else

Once again, I have taken an unexpected leave of absence from writing here. Hopefully it should be the last for a while. I did not expect finals to be as demanding as they were… a strange sentiment, but it was indeed true.

Nonetheless, as Jesus once said, τετέλεσται (tetelestai; that is, “it is finished”). All work is submitted. Grades are posted. Yet I felt no rush of relief or even pride.

I am, obviously, stalling in presenting my thesis itself. I am awaiting publication, which may be another 4–6 weeks, before actually sharing it here. But in this post, I wanted to do something very much in line with Ecclesiastes. Specifically, I wanted to do a reflective analysis of the “royal autobiography” of Ecclesiastes 2. Because suddenly, it feels less like an ancient text than a regular Monday morning.

I realized the sentiment I felt after submitting that last assignment was no different than Qoheleth’s after conducting his own experiments. Perhaps I’ve been too deep in that research… but indeed, it too is a sentiment we all know well: that our accomplishments are nothing. They do not leave this life with us. As Denzel Washington once said, “You will never see a U-Haul behind a hearse.” And they can even be a source of deep frustration.

Introduction: The Royal Autobiography

Ecclesiastes is quite clearly intended to be written from the perspective of Solomon. However, the scholarly consensus (one of few in scholarship on Ecclesiastes) is that Solomon did not write it. The book was most likely written under Persian or Hellenistic influence, between 400–200 BCE. Some 500 years after Solomon. But this is not a “contradiction.”

It’s a literary device. Qoheleth has many of these. I am still discovering several often. But in ancient literature, scholars often wrote in the name of powerful figures. Think about it: you have a message you want to sell, and how are you going to do that? You have to make it authoritative. Qoheleth spends all of chapter 2 doing this.

A Mad King’s Experiment

The chapter begins with an experiment. Qoheleth is a scientist of pleasure and meaningfulness. A mad scientist. For he says,

“I said to myself, “Come now, I will make a test of pleasure; enjoy yourself.” But again, this also was vanity. I said of laughter, ‘It is mad,’ and of pleasure, ‘What use is it?’” Ecc. 2:1, NRSVue

The rest of the chapter continues in the same manner. Qoheleth brags about his “great works” (2:4) and “gardens and parks” (2:5). He became great in power and maintained his wisdom (2:9). And as such, he did not refrain from indulging, for pleasure is the reward for his toil (2:10). Can I get a witness?

Ground Zero: Hebel in Ecclesiastes 2:11

But then we reach 2:11. Ecclesiastes 2:11 may be the verse that resonates with me the most. It’s indeed beautiful.

As I reflected on everything this week, I realized this sentiment was exactly what I needed to read. The job I have worked this last semester, at a local university, passed me over for an interview for a full-time position, in the title under which I currently serve. On the basis of a lack of experience, experience that had been promised but never delivered throughout my tenure. Knowingly the week that I graduate. This all happened less than an hour after submitting my final assignment.

But I do not write that to vent. I write it for context. It is just ground zero for the hebel I found this week.

I reflected on all the work I had done. I’ve finished. 4.0? Great. Honors? Great. But attaining this degree came with great sacrifices. No jobs are looking for “good theology student at Emory University.” And my Hebrew is bad enough to exclude me from any PhD program… in Hebrew Bible, at least.

Qoheleth gives us the words to express this sense of defeat and great disappointment. He writes:

“Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had spent in doing it, and again, all was [hebel] and a chasing after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.” Ecc. 2:11 NRSVUE

Collapsing at the finish line. That is how it feels. There was nothing to be gained under the sun. Just a few passages later, Qoheleth concludes:

“So I hated life because what is done under the sun was grievous to me, for all is [hebel] and a chasing after wind.” Ecc. 2:17 NRSVUE

This is why I hate literal translations of hebel. This isn’t a hippy-like “it’s just fleeting, man,” sentiment. Hebel is not just “fleeting.” It is the smoke that gets in your eyes and makes them sting. It is the gears of a machine grinding against each other until they smoke, producing nothing but heat and friction. And it is the streams flowing to the sea, only for the sea to never be full (1:7). There is a sense of deep, perhaps bitter, frustration. Hebel. The word I have spent 82 pages and 169 footnotes writing on—and clearly that was not enough.

The Case for Qoheleth

It was never about any of that. I never pursued the study because I wanted an amazing career. I pursued it because I was hurting. Because the institutions that were “supposed to” help never did. And yes, because I was a devout homeschooler inspired by Lee Strobel’s The Case for Christ. My mother, my best friend was dying. I needed a case for Christ, or God, or something.

But in the end, I found absolutely no case for Christ. I found the case for Qoheleth. The case to admit that this, too, is hebel. A grievous ill. An unhappy business. A chasing after wind. That there is a time to be born, and a time to die (3:2). A time to weep and a time to laugh (3:4). A time to carpe diem, that is, to seize the day. And, of course, a time to admit there is nothing to be gained under the sun. But, again and above all, the end of the matter… there is a time to admit that this, too, is hebel.

Post Script: Ozymandias