On the Saturday of Sukkot, Ecclesiastes is read in the synagogue. I know myself to be something of a curmudgeon, and one who is prone to doubt traditional Judaism’s comprehension of life’s realities on occasion. And every year, Ecclesiastes is there to remind me that cynicism predates me by a couple millennia. Futility of futility, all is futile! Kohelet begins. What profit does man have for all his labor which he toils beneath the sun? A generation goes and a generation comes, but the earth endures forever. I am of no consequence. My work is of no consequence. Whatever has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done. There is nothing new under the sun. There is no invention. It is useless to try. For with much wisdom comes much grief, and he who increases knowledge increases pain. Ignorance is bliss. Intellectualism begets only anxiety. And so on.
Wise aphorisms speak across the epochs. The uncaring, unflinching eventuality of death is constant, unavoidable. But lo, the occasioned refrain: I observed that there is nothing better for man than to be happy in what he is doing, for that is his lot. For who can enable him to see what will be after him? Halfheartedly uplifting, at best. A carpe diem as a poetic depressive. Yet it remains truth. There is nothing new, indeed. Cynicism is optimism weathered by experience. I need the reminder, and appreciate it. Ultimately, man cannot fathom the events that transpire under the sun; inasmuch as man labors to seek he shall not find it. And even though a wise man presumes to know, he shall not find it. Bleak, yes, but far from disheartening. The world is as it is, brokers Kohelet. Don’t stress yourself out. They are words for all times, and our times.
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