Post #75: Chasing after Wind

31 Oct. 2023

“I have seen all things done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and chasing after wind.”

—Ecclesiastes 1:14

Kohelet, the Gatherer—of wealth and pleasure, of experience and understanding—who speaks to us so unforgettably in the name of the wise king Solomon,* was one who sought out what there was to seek, did what there was to do, and learnt what there was to learn, so far as it lies within our human powers. When he concluded that all is vanity (more literally, breath or vapor), he knew whereof he spake.

Even so, we should be clear that he was not saying that all is therefore worthless (or if he did, it was in a passing mood of discouragement, not as a final verdict), any more than the Buddha dismissed the things of the world when he stressed their impermanent and ultimately unsatisfactory character. The good things in life are as real as the bad, and it is a marvel bordering on a miracle that we get to enjoy so many worldly blessings, considering just how much conspires against them. Out of all the states in which things could be, only a tiny fraction is compatible with human survival even, let alone human flourishing, and the tendency towards entropy that inheres in all things must be continuously fought off, not only physically but socially as well, by the constant application of energy. Even peace is not easy to keep, to say nothing of law and order and a modicum of social amity or equity or justice. (See Posts #29, #68, #69, etc.)

Surely a higher wisdom will not scoff at such accomplishments, but content itself with pointing out that while we are perfectly justified, as creatures of survival, to favor one over the other, the good and the bad are not quite as mutually exclusive as we take them to be, because they depend for their meaning on the tension and the underlying connection. Of course we want the balance to be favorable, but one could not exist without the other, and neither can be made permanent; so what is at issue, in a deeper sense, is not so much the goodness or badness of things themselves as our proper orientation towards them in the course of a transient existence in an ephemeral and enigmatic world that cannot be captured and fixed any more than the wind. Which is not at all to say that a breath of fresh air is the same as noxious fumes or a cloud of poison.

Our actions too, no matter how worthy and well-considered, are part of this passing show, and it may seem, in our darker moments, as if that made them pointless exercises in mere futility. Since they do not last—or if they ever did for the duration of our lifetimes, but we could not be sure of what might become of them afterwards—we may well lose heart at times, as did the Gatherer, and despair of life and the always wearisome, sometimes loathsome labors it keeps demanding of us (Eccles. 2:17–20). Such dark clouds too must sometimes pass through the skies of the mind, even those of the wisest; they have their place, as gusts of wind like the rest, but not as the last word on anything.

We are back then, once again, to old Sisyphus and letting go the fruits of our actions. If, as you are pushing up your boulder, you imagine it remaining in place, a beacon on the hill for all times and peoples to see and admire, you are bound to be disappointed; even if it were to stay in place for a while, it would start to crumble or gather moss before long. Such things do not, cannot last in our world, and to expect otherwise would simply be a mistake on our part. If we shift our perspective, however, and learn to do our part right now with spirit and good cheer, letting the future take care of itself, then we will have our reward, even if it will not often be in accordance with our exact specifications. The best things, like the worst, tend to come to us unexpectedly.

The brightest fires too, no matter how lovingly kindled and carefully tended, can yield only ashes in the end; but that is not to devalue fire, whose nature, if handled properly, is to bring us warmth, help us cook our food, and gladden our hearts with the dancing brightness of its flames (Eccles. 12:7). Even the ashes make for excellent fertilizer. Our disappointment and despond has little to do with the element before us, but mostly with our own failure to appreciate and accept its proper nature, which is not to burn forever, but to require constant rekindling, and even then to go out in its due course. “There is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven” (Eccles. 3:1) should be a consolation to us, not an aggravation. Yes, winter there must be, and pain, and even bitterness; but also spring and rebirth, and renewed joy and sweetness, until that too comes to an end at last.

To think that life will never knock you down is pure hubris and folly, a great provocation to the gods and an invitation for terrible blows of fortune to set you right. It is natural that we do not pride ourselves on our falls, whether they come by our own fault or not (the distinction becomes increasingly tedious with the years); but neither need we be unduly ashamed, for such is the rent fabric of life. A Zen master who sees a meticulously raked garden will go and shake some leaves off the tree to make it look right; the greatest carpet makers weave slight imperfections into their proudest work to mark its authenticity. And our mastery of the art of living shows itself in nothing so much as in how, when the fabric tears as it must, we pick up the needle and thread and patch it up again for the thousandth time, human rag dolls all. When you trip and fall, you get up again: it may sound like a small thing, but there is nothing greater. Triumphing is child’s play by comparison.

Fancy toys and prizes, like all gifts of fortune, should be accepted and enjoyed with good grace and gratitude; only a fool refuses to answer the phone when the call comes from Stockholm, and only incorrigible snobs decline knighthoods. But these are not the stars to steer by at night if one does not wish to get lost at sea. Where there is much glitter there will be even more envy, and friends will prove false; where there is unrecognized merit it will earn good-will such as invidious success never can. As Cato the Elder replied when someone told him that assuredly he deserved a statue more than those who already had one: “I would rather have people ask why I don’t have a statue than why I do.” (Notice to Stockholm: I’m game.)

It is in the nature of seeds well-planted and well-watered to sprout and yield up their fruit; but much depends on the field, the composition of the soil, and the atmospheric conditions at the time. Crops may fail and harvests be destroyed through no fault of our own, or they may sometimes exceed our wildest imagination by no one’s special merit. We cannot know, and we should not even try to anticipate, how far life’s vagaries and vicissitudes will carry us, be it upwards or downwards; our task is to do what we can, where we can, when we can, and leave the rest to destiny or the gods or karma or whatever name you prefer to give to that which exceeds our capacity for prediction. The only sure thing is that if we can’t be bothered, or if we allow ourselves to be stymied and demoralized by the prospect of a paltry return (or what seems so to us), then nothing will come of nothing.

“No pain, no gain” is quite mistaken: our miseries are incidental, not essential. There is no extra credit for suffering; it is the pains we take not the ones we suffer that count for something—our readiness to engage in labors of love, the valiant efforts we are willing to make without distracting our attention by constantly looking for the returns, or the possible reversals, out of the corners of our eyes. (Thus Eccles. 11:4, “Whoever observes the wind will not sow; whoever regards the clouds will not reap.”)

If we do our part, we will surely be rewarded, if not now then later, if not for this then for something else; but that can only happen if we refrain from obsessing about our due recompense, or demand it like ill-tempered brats from a universe not built to fulfill our wishes, and decidedly disinclined to humor nags. So as the Gatherer reminds us, whatever work you are called to do in this life, put your heart and back into it—for the end to your toils will come soon enough, and then it will be too late for regrets (Eccles. 2:10, 9:10). What comes after, even the Gatherer could not say, for all his great wisdom (Eccles. 3:21, 6:12): Who knows?

*The story of Solomon’s wisdom told in 1 Kings (especially chapters 3–4 and 10) makes for fascinating reading—or better yet, listening, especially in the stupendous recordings by Alexander Scourby, which stand out even amidst the library of unabridged classics that I have heard performed and on which I pride myself as much as on what I have read. (I say Bernard Mayes for Gibbon and Burke, Jeremy Irons for Nabokov, and William Hootkins for Moby Dick, among others). The prejudice against audiobooks looks entirely misplaced to me; the best performances of the greatest texts can bring the dead back to life and make mere letters sing with celestial music. One does not often get to hear such English from the living; it is balm for sore ears and dew for wounded souls.