1Who is like the wise man?
Who knows the explanation of things?
Wisdom brightens a man’s face
and changes its hard appearance.
2Obey the king’s command, I say, because you took an oath before God. 3Do not be in a hurry to leave the king’s presence. Do not stand up for a bad cause, for he will do whatever he pleases. 4Since a king’s word is supreme, who can say to him, “What are you doing?”
5Whoever obeys his command will come to no harm,
and the wise heart will know the proper time and procedure.
6For there is a proper time and procedure for every matter,
though a man’s misery weighs heavily upon him.
7Since no man knows the future,
who can tell him what is to come?
8No man has power over the wind to contain it;
so no one has power over the day of his death.
As no one is discharged in time of war,
so wickedness will not release those who practice it.
9All this I saw, as I applied my mind to everything done under the sun. There is a time when a man lords it over others to his own hurt. 10Then too, I saw the wicked buried—those who used to come and go from the holy place and receive praise in the city where they did this. This too is meaningless.
11When the sentence for a crime is not quickly carried out, the hearts of the people are filled with schemes to do wrong. 12Although a wicked man commits a hundred crimes and still lives a long time, I know that it will go better with God-fearing men, who are reverent before God. 13Yet because the wicked do not fear God, it will not go well with them, and their days will not lengthen like a shadow.
14There is something else meaningless that occurs on earth: righteous men who get what the wicked deserve, and wicked men who get what the righteous deserve. This too, I say, is meaningless. 15So I commend the enjoyment of life, because nothing is better for a man under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany him in his work all the days of the life God has given him under the sun.
16When I applied my mind to know wisdom and to observe man’s labor on earth—his eyes not seeing sleep day or night—17then I saw all that God has done. No one can comprehend what goes on under the sun. Despite all his efforts to search it out, man cannot discover its meaning. Even if a wise man claims he knows, he cannot really comprehend it.
Original Meaning
SCHOLARS HAVE DEBATED whether 8:1 is better read with what precedes it or what follows it. It seems difficult, however, to make sense of the verse, and particularly its second part, as merely the continuation of 7:29. But it is possible to understand verse 1b as the quotation of a proverbial saying, the significance of which is then expounded in the verses that follow. The first part of verse 1 is then to be understood as an introduction to the saying and translated thus: “Who is like the wise man? Who knows the interpretation of the saying [pešer dabar] . . . ?”
The word pešer is frequently found in the Qumran literature regarding the interpretation of hidden meanings in biblical texts. Equivalent or cognate forms appear in Genesis 40–41 and in Daniel of the interpretation of dreams. The “saying” in this case is the proverb of Ecclesiastes 8:1b, which at one level might be taken to refer to the beneficial effects of wisdom in cheering a person up and relieving gloom or harshness. Qohelet, however, has not only found that wisdom often brings sorrow and grief as much as joy (e.g., 1:18); he has also advocated a glowering countenance over a happy one (7:3).
So what can the proverb of 8:1b mean? To what does it truly refer? The material that follows suggests that Qohelet interprets it1 to refer to behavior at the royal court, where a glowering countenance will do no good and may bring great personal danger. It is wise not to show one’s disapproval of, or disagreement with, a despotic monarch. The proverb now speaks of things as they should be made to appear rather than as they actually are.
As the focus of the passage now shifts more explicitly to the wise man at court, the emphasis falls in the first instance on obedience (8:2). The command of the king is paramount and must be obeyed. The implication of this instruction, however, and the assumption of the verses that follow are that there will be occasions when the wise man will not approve of the king’s command and be tempted to ask: “What are you doing?” (v. 4).
This much is clear, even though the best way precisely to understand verses 2b–3 is not. The Hebrew syntax of verse 2 (lit., “obey the command of the king and because of the oath of God”) makes it a little awkward to read the line as in the NIV, which has led to the suggestion that verse 2b should be read with verse 3a: “as for the oath before God, do not be hasty.” The remainder of verse 3 would then read: “from his presence go out; do not remain in a bad situation [a better translation than the NIV’s ‘do not stand up for a bad cause’; cf. comments on 1:13], for he will do whatever he pleases.”
Taken together the verses should then be read as advocating withdrawal from the royal court rather than opposing the king, which may involve the uttering of an oath by way of indicating the seriousness of the opposition (cf., e.g., 1 Kings 17:1, 12; 19:2, for oaths that underline words). The wise man will think more than twice before opposing the king in this way. He will not rush to speech and action. We may note similar general advice, also employing Hebrew bhl, “be hasty,” in Ecclesiastes 5:2 and 7:9:
Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God.
Do not be quickly provoked in your spirit, for anger resides in the lap of fools.
The Masoretic text as it stands, however, takes a different view of the oath, clearly understanding it as providing the reason, or perhaps even an additional reason over and above the pragmatics of the matter (a desire for self-preservation), why the king should be obeyed: “Obey the king’s command, (especially) because of the oath of God.”2 An oath of loyalty sworn to the king before God by the wise man himself could be in mind, or perhaps an oath sworn to the king by God, guaranteeing the king’s rule. Mortal rule, and especially Davidic rule over Israel, is commonly regarded in the Bible as legitimated by God, and rebellion against the king is closely associated with rebellion against God, as in Proverbs 24:21–22:
Fear the LORD and the king, my son,
and do not join with the rebellious,
for those two will send sudden destruction upon them,
and who knows what calamities they can bring?
If verse 2 is thus read as a unit, then verse 3 should be understood either as providing balanced advice to the wise man on how to react to a foolish command (he should not storm out of the king’s presence in a rage, but neither should he tarry in a bad situation), or, syntactically better (given the absence of any adversative particle that might be translated as “but”), as suggesting how a wise person should react and then what he should do (“Do not be dismayed3; leave the king’s presence. Do not tarry in a bad situation . . .”).
The difference between the two interpretations lies in the role of the oath. In both cases, however, it is clear that the wise person is advised to disguise his true feelings while in the king’s presence, for “a king’s word is supreme” (v. 4). The theme of power, especially expressed in Hebrew šlṭ (“supreme” [v. 4]; “power” [2× in v. 8]; “lords it over” [v. 9]), is indeed prominent throughout the passage. It may be true that wisdom makes one wise man more powerful than ten rulers (Heb. šalliṭim, 7:19), but the truly wise person knows not to flaunt his wisdom when confronted by a foolish ruler, for there is a serious risk of “harm”4 if he does so (v. 5).
The way to avoid “coming to” (v. 5a; lit., “knowing,” Heb. ydʿ ) harm is to “know” (v. 5b; Heb. ydʿ ) the “proper time and procedure” (lit., “both time and judgment”) for everything. This phrase is probably not best understood as in the NIV, however, since the Hebrew reminds us of chapter 3 in general, where we are told that there is a time for everything (3:1; see esp. 3:16–17, which speaks of a time for judgment). The linguistic connections here are striking:
3:1: “There is a time for everything, and a season [ʿet, time] for every activity [ḥepeṣ, pleasure, business, matter].”
3:16–17: “In the place of judgment [mišpaṭ], wickedness was there. . . . God will bring to judgment [špṭ] . . . for there will be a time [ʿet, time] for every activity [ḥepeṣ].”
8:6: “For there is a proper time [ʿet, time] and procedure [mišpaṭ] for every matter [ḥepeṣ].”
In 5:8, moreover, we have been told that we should not be surprised by “such things” (ḥepeṣ) as the denial of justice (mišpaṭ) and rights. Taking these other passages as our guide, it seems best to interpret 8:5–6 as exhorting the wise man at court, faced with a foolish ruler, to exercise patience rather than to give free rein to his true feelings—to remember that there is a time for everything, including divine judgment on foolishness and wickedness.
This interpretation is supported by the observation of a play on words in verses 3 and 6. In verse 3 the wise man should not futilely oppose the king, for the latter will do “whatever he pleases [ḥpṣ].” He should recognize, rather, that such a royal “matter” (ḥepeṣ, v. 6) is a temporary feature of reality, which will meet its appropriate recompense in due course. This he should know in his “heart” (v. 5), even while behaving outwardly as if he knows no such thing. The recognition that what is good and just will prevail in the end will help him to endure in the meantime what is admittedly “misery” (raʿa, v. 6; lit., “evil”; cf. the “evil” of 6:1, which also “weighs heavily” on humankind).
With the exegetical platform thus laid in 8:1–6, it is now more obvious than it otherwise would be precisely how verses 7–9 should be construed. Verse 7 reaffirms the lack of control that human beings have over “the times” (cf. ch. 3). The wise heart “knows” about “time and judgment” (v. 5), and this influences both his thinking and his actions when confronted with his king, but no one “knows” exactly how and when things will work out (v. 7).
Various images of mortal lack of control are then given in verse 8 to underline the point. No one has power over the wind (cf. 1:6) or over the number of the days of one’s life. Once a war is under way, no one has the ability freely to walk away from the army. Wickedness, finally, will not allow “those who practice it” (i.e., its possessors; Heb. baʿal; lit., “master, owner,” as in 5:11) to escape—a clever line, which is better translated more literally than in the NIV, since it raises the question of whether anyone ever really “possesses” wickedness rather than being enslaved by it. One would expect an owner to try to prevent the slave’s escape rather than vice versa.
These truths are general ones that might apply to anyone, and in particular to the wise person, who may be tempted to think that he can change things by his words and actions that cannot in fact be changed for the moment (at this “time”). The deliberate twofold use of Heb. šlṭ (NIV “power”) in verse 8, however, which reminds us of the “supreme” word of the king in verse 4, already makes us think of the king in particular—the one who appears to be completely in control when in reality he is not. It is the king’s word that has the potential for harm or evil (raʿ ) in verses 3 and 5 and that creates misery (raʿa) in verse 6. Yet verse 8 suggests that wickedness (rešaʿ ) ends up possessing its possessor.
Verses 9–10 then bring the whole section to an intermediate conclusion. The present “time” that is under consideration is characterized (v. 9) as that in which a man exercises power (Heb. šlṭ) that results in “hurt” (raʿ, “evil”). The statement is ambiguous (lit., “there is a time when a man exercises power over a man for hurt to him”), and perhaps deliberately so in the light of the preceding verses. Does the “hurt” fall only on the king’s victims, or ultimately on the king himself? The passage as a whole suggests that Qohelet intends us to think of both outcomes. Evil intended for others ultimately damages the perpetrator (cf. 5:13). In the end, in fact, the reign of the wicked person comes to an end—even the wicked are buried (v. 10).5 As prominent and as visible, perhaps as self-important and self-righteous, as kings once were (symbolized by their coming and going from the temple), yet they die, are buried, and are soon forgotten6 even in the city where they were most visible and well known. Their reign is not so imposing as they think and as their subjects fear. Even the memory of it soon fades.
The final sentence of verse 10, referring to futility (Heb. hebel; NIV “meaningless”), is better taken with what follows it than what precedes it, just as the hebel-statement in verse 14 also refers forward rather than backward. It is one of the unfortunate results of divine patience with human beings in their sinfulness, which may mean that “the sentence for a crime is not quickly carried out” (v. 11), that foolish hearts are “filled with schemes to do wrong.” Wrongdoing meets no opposition, and the wrongdoer is thus encouraged to continue on his or her chosen path. It is this way of thinking and doing that is “pointless.”
Qohelet himself as a wise person “knows” (v. 12; cf. v. 5) that reality will not ultimately conform itself to the fantasies of fools. The wicked may sin massively—a hundred times over (cf. 6:3 for a similar use of the number)—and yet live a long life. This is admittedly puzzling if God is good and just and truly governs the universe. Yet Qohelet resists the conclusion that wickedness pays. He continues to affirm that it will go better with the person who fears God than with the person who does not (vv. 12–13), and he explicitly states that the days of the wicked “will not lengthen like a shadow,” by which is probably meant that the life of the wicked is a fleeting and insubstantial thing that does not last long (cf. 6:12).
The puzzle presented by the affirmation of ultimate justice is to understand how Qohelet imagines things will in practice work out. As he has noted already in the book, it is not just the foolish who die and are forgotten (2:16). Nor is it only the life of the wicked that is a fleeting shadow (6:12). He maintains that the days of the wicked will not lengthen (Heb. ʾrk, v. 13), yet he has just observed that the wicked may live for a long time (Heb. ʾrk, v. 12), and he goes on immediately in verses 14–15 to suggest more generally not only that wicked people sometimes get what the righteous deserve but that righteous people sometimes get what the wicked deserve (cf. 7:15).
The clear implication of his thinking must be that there is some “time” beyond the “times” of life in which wrongs can be righted and imbalances corrected; yet as we have seen, Qohelet is agnostic about life after death (3:18–21). His agnosticism is proclaimed, indeed, precisely at that point in chapter 3 when the reality of God’s judgment on the righteous and the wicked is first articulated. So how is justice to be done? Qohelet never explains himself. He simply expresses his confidence in the moral nature of the universe while noting various data that bring this into apparent question. Unable finally to resolve the puzzle himself, he then characteristically advocates that the reader get on with life and not worry too much about the details, which lie with God.
That is precisely the direction in which he moves in verses 15–17. If it is ultimately unclear how justice is to be achieved and precisely how, in the longer term, it is “better” (ṭob, cf. its use in vv. 12–13) to fear God than not to, then at least this much is clear: There is nothing “better” (ṭob, v. 15) for someone living in the present time “under the sun” than to eat, drink, and be glad—to know joy in the presence of God in his world. The business of living well before God in this way must not be sacrificed in the pursuit of truth that is ultimately beyond our grasp.
With the closing remarks of chapter 8 we return to the theme of much of the second part of chapter 7. Qohelet has set out to understand the business of life (Heb. ʿinyan, NIV’s “labor”; but cf. 1:13; 2:23, 26; 3:10; 4:8; 5:3, 14) at which mortal beings are constantly busy (“not seeing sleep day or night”). He has examined the work (maʿ aśeh) or action of God, and, as in 3:11, 17 (where the work of judgment is in view), he has found it unfathomable. All efforts at knowing wisdom (ydʿḥokma, v. 16, as in 7:25), in the sense of “finding” a comprehensive account of reality (Heb. mṣʾ, three times in 8:17, as in 7:24, 27–28), have failed. A more literal translation of part of verse 17 communicates the emphasis with which the failure is announced:
No human being can find out [mṣʾ ] the work [maʿ aśeh] that is done under the sun. Despite all human effort to search it out, one cannot find [mṣʾ ] it. Even if the wise man claims to know, he cannot find [mṣʾ ] it.
It is this reality that leads to the advice of verse 15. It is not the ultimate justice of God that Qohelet doubts. It his own ability to understand how that justice works out in practice. He does not consider it wise to pursue that question at the expense of living well the life God has given him.
THE BROADER BIBLICAL context in which Ecclesiastes 8 must be understood is provided by all that voluminous material that speaks of the foolish and wicked rulers of this present age, under whose power God’s people must live for a time, and that offers models of and advice about what righteous living should look like. That much human government is wicked, even though government as such is instituted by God for human good and should not lightly be opposed, is simply taken for granted by the Bible, which characteristically sees idolatry as lying at the root of the problem. Kings, made in God’s image to govern creation as his representatives, come to “worship the image” or the self and set themselves up as gods in opposition to the living God. The consequence is “harm”—to other human beings, to the rest of creation, and, ultimately, to the king himself.
The most fundamental picture of this reality in the Bible is provided by the Exodus narrative. God’s people find themselves in Egypt, enduring harsh oppression at the hands of a human being who is considered within his cultural and religious context to be a god—the pharaoh of Egypt, son of the sun-god Re, and becoming, after death, the god Osiris. This god-king requires servanthood from Israel—a harsh, oppressive slavery, ruthlessly imposed (Ex. 1–2; cf. 20:2).
Opposed to this “god” is the living God, who contests the sovereignty of Pharaoh over his world. An almighty, cosmic battle between the god of Egypt and the God of the burning bush ensues, which proves beyond doubt that we are dealing here with the only true God, who has ultimate power over both creation and history, and that other gods are not truly gods at all, albeit that they are often regarded as such. Ten plagues—environmental disaster in the main—suffice to make the point that the God who has addressed Moses, not Pharaoh or any other Egyptian god, is the God of fertility and blessing; in the end he is God of life and death (Ex. 12:12).
The events at the Reed Sea confirm his identity, as creation is replayed in the divine control of the watery chaos and the divine judgment on the forces of darkness. All God’s enemies are dismissed as the Spirit-wind sweeps across the earth (cf. Gen. 1:1–10; Ex. 14:21–29). The Lord God, who promised to deliver his people from the Egyptians—to shape history in terms of his own will rather than permit it to be shaped by Egyptian gods (Ex. 3:7–12)—has proved able to deliver on his promises, for he is the true and living God who creates, redeems, and blesses.
The kingdom that Israel’s God governs is unlike Pharaoh’s kingdom, for it has at its heart a seventh day of rest, in which there is space for all creatures to remember that life is more than work and the universe more than an object to be manipulated in pursuit of gain. The kingdom of Pharaoh is one in which there is no rest but only feverish productivity for God’s people (Ex. 1–2). The kingdom of God offers a clear alternative. There is no comparison between the good society ordained by God and the oppressive society ordained by the gods.
Thus is a fundamental contrast set up early in the biblical story between two kingdoms, and the battle between them is replayed in different forms throughout the remainder of the Bible. Isaiah 14 exults over the downfall of the king of Babylon, one who said in his heart, “I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God. . . . I will make myself like the Most High” (Isa. 14:13–14).
Second Kings 18–19 presents us with the Assyrian emperor Sennacherib, who suggests that the Lord God cannot deliver Jerusalem because he is merely one of many powerless gods (18:33–35)—and a deceitful one at that (19:10). Sennacherib portrays himself as the true provider of material blessings and life itself, and indeed as the provider of a new exodus for Israel to a “promised land” (18:31–32; cf. Deut. 8:7–9). Invited by the Assyrian king to turn his back on this deceitful and powerless god and so save himself from the fate of all those other kings who went to their doom clinging to their idols, Hezekiah of Judah offers a memorable prayer (2 Kings 19:14–19), in which he reaffirms that the God enthroned between the cherubim, who has taken Israel for his special people, is not merely one god among many, but God alone. All earthly kingdoms should know the difference between God and the gods. Thus, Hezekiah asks that Jerusalem be delivered from the Assyrian’s hand. Isaiah’s reply (19:21–34) makes clear just how much exception the living God takes to Sennacherib’s pretensions to divinity.
Ezekiel 28:1–10 addresses the prince of Tyre, who has said, “I am a god; I sit on the throne of a god in the heart of the seas” (v. 2), but in reality is mortal and destined to die at the hands of foreigners because of his pride (cf. Ps. 82).
Finally, Daniel 3–4 tells us of Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, a king who imagines he has, in defeating Judah, defeated Judah’s God and symbolically places vessels from the Jerusalem temple in the treasury of his gods (Dan. 1:1–2). His sense of godlike control is revealed in his construction of a massive golden image on the plain of Dura and in the subsequent demand for political and religious allegiance (Dan. 3). Three Jewish exiles refuse to bow down, intent on avoiding confusion between an idol and the living God. After their escape from royal power, Nebuchadnezzar himself receives an object lesson in reality (Dan. 4), as he is cut down while flourishing, driven out among the animals, and made to eat grass for seven “times,” until he realizes the truth of his existence as king, namely, “that Heaven rules” (v. 26).
An inscription of the Assyrian king Assurnasirpal gives deep insight into the idolatrous nature of power as it is wielded by such rulers:
And now at the commands of the great gods, my sovereignty, my dominion, and my power, are manifesting themselves: I am regal, I am lordly, I am exalted, I am mighty, I am honored, I am glorified, I am preeminent, I am powerful, I am valiant, I am lion-brave, and I am heroic. (I), Assur-Nasir-Pal, the mighty king, the king of Assyria, chosen of Sin, favorite of Anu, beloved of Adad, mighty one among the gods.7
It is undoubtedly because of this tendency among foreign kings and states to self-divinization that Deuteronomy 17:14–20 instructs Israel, in respect of her own kingship, that the king should not be a foreigner, should not imitate foreigners, and should have constant recourse to the law of Moses, lest he forget that he rules under God. The oft-succumbed-to temptation to be like the other nations was, after all, a strong one (1 Sam. 8)—the temptation to make “strength . . . their god” (Hab. 1:11).
Whether in these Old Testament books, or later in a New Testament book like Revelation, the Bible is not naïve about the nature of human government. Nor is it pessimistic, however. It knows that individual kings die (as in Eccl. 8:1–17), and beyond that it knows that one day all earthly powers will pass away, when “one like a son of man” (Dan. 7:13) comes to bring in the kingdom of God in a final way and deals decisively with all those “beasts” or nations who have governed up to this point (7:14). Kings do not control their own destiny, much less anyone else’s. They have no grasp of the times, which lie in the hand of the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End (Rev. 1:8; 21:6; 22:13).
The question for believers, of course, is how to live “between the times”—in the present, where government is flawed and often wicked, before the end times come and the kingdom of God is fully among us. Qohelet, although he seems to have little explicit interest in the end times, offers some helpful advice. He counsels caution when confronting power, for although that power in relation to God is no power at all, it is still capable of doing great harm. A wise person may well be more powerful than ten rulers in a city (7:19); but he is unwise if he thinks that wisdom gives him precisely the same kind of power as the king, and he is likely to regret it if he fails to make the appropriate distinction between them. What Qohelet is saying here comes under the New Testament heading of being “as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves,” precisely because as sheep it is not wise to attract attention from any wolves (Matt. 10:16). There is no virtue in running deliberately into the jaws of death for no good reason.
To caution, Qohelet adds patience. The wise person who understands the nature of things will not struggle foolishly against reality as it is presently found, as if an individual could singlehandedly change the world for the better. There must be a steady and a patient waiting for God’s judgment and redemption, knowing that (as 2 Peter 3:8–9 puts it) “with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.”
This patience is naturally allied to faith. It is necessary to keep our heads clear when confronted by the idols of power, lest we come to think that the pretensions of the powerful have some basis in reality, and lest we are tempted therefore to view the world from their point of view. The present nature of the world should not determine our thinking, however. We should not be persuaded by those who scoff and follow their own evil desires, saying “Ever since our fathers died, everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation” (2 Peter 3:4). Mortal power will pass away, sooner or later. The wicked powers will face judgment, and “their days will not lengthen like a shadow” (Eccl. 8:13).
To caution and patience Qohelet adds, finally, integrity. Above all we must not be drawn into living falsely just because we live in a world where falsehood is normal. We are to go on living our lives before God, eating and drinking and being glad, and in doing this undermining all those ideologies that exalt power as a means to human happiness. We are to stay on the narrow path, refusing the temptations and ignoring the threats of power. In this way we witness to the futility of power and shine light on the broad path that leads to destruction. We do this, not because we understand all of God’s ways, but because we know that God is God (Eccl. 8:16–17). It is a false religion, indeed, that teaches or implies that we can somehow comprehend or control God—a religion hinted at in the case of Nicodemus (John 3), who seeks rational control of the truth and needs to be reminded as to the ungraspable nature of God, who is like the wind.
Shrewd caution, patient faith, and integrity are all on display when we read those many biblical stories that are most directly about God’s people living under foreign rule. In the Old Testament we think most notably of the story of Joseph in Genesis 37–50 and of the books of Esther and Daniel. The Joseph and Esther stories remind us that living under such rule is frequently complex and certainly not morally unambiguous—there is always a fine line between accommodation and compromise. The Daniel stories tell us something that Qohelet does not: that even when the people of God make a sincere attempt to live under the “beastly empires,” displaying due loyalty to governmental power and exercising caution, faith, and integrity, they will still face persecution and danger and will sometimes be called upon to stand up and be counted for God.
Even though wise people have no interest in running deliberately into the jaws of death for no good reason, there will sometimes be good reasons to do so. For God is God, and loyalty to God comes first and above all other loyalties. The early church preaches the same message to us: “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). Christians have always struggled with what exactly this means, particularly when it comes to the question of how far human powers are to be opposed in the name of God (e.g., as far as violent revolution?). What is clear, however, is that those who hold to biblical faith can never accede to any mortal demand that they blur the sharp boundary between God and the created order, whether that demand comes from an individual “god” or from a nation-state or other community that has divine pretensions.
God, who entered Israel’s story so mysteriously as a voice speaking from a burning bush, possessing a name whose meaning cannot be pinned down—“I am who I am; I will be what I will be” (Ex. 3:14)—thus announced that he possesses unhindered power beyond all human power to contain, to objectify, and to control. There can be no compromise on that fundamental truth.
Contemporary Significance
The greatest joy is to conquer one’s enemies, to pursue them, to seize their property, to see their family in tears, to ride their horses and to possess their daughters and wives.8
Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. This maxim is amply demonstrated throughout history, and not only by Ghengis Khan, whose words are cited above. Power is gasoline thrown on the fire of our ordinary self-worship, turning it into a blazing inferno. Out of the fire all too often steps a god, risen from the ashes of humanity, and these megalomaniac gods do great harm. They take names for themselves like “Ghengis Khan,” which means “universal ruler,” or “divine Caesar.” They define all time and space as their possession; constructing chronology in terms of the godlike self has been one of the basic moves of the egomaniac since ancient times (e.g., the Roman emperors) and down to the present (year 0 in Cambodia). Oppression and bloodshed are their stock in trade.
The modern deification of the state—the philosopher Hegel once called the state “the march of God through the world”—has much to do with the collapse of Christendom, as the nineteenth-century German thinker Friedrich Nietzsche foresaw. Looking ahead in a world shaped by Enlightenment and scientific thought in which God was dead and in which there was therefore no universal truth or morality, Nietzsche foresaw a point in the future when this reality would dawn widely on Western culture, leading to widespread nihilism—that is, a pervasive sense of purposelessness and meaninglessness.
Nietzsche also correctly foresaw, however, that most people would be unable to accept the intrinsic meaninglessness of existence and would seek alternative absolutes to God as a way of investing life with meaning. He thought that the emerging nationalism of his own day represented one such surrogate god, in which the nation-state would be invested with a transcendent value and purpose. The slaughter of rivals and the conquest of the earth would follow, even while people were proclaiming universal brotherhood, democracy, and socialism. It was Nietzsche’s world in which we lived in the twentieth century—a century of unparalleled butchery and brutality. The god of the nation-state has exacted a heavy price on its worshipers.
What this god offers us, however, is so attractive that we are prepared, culturally, to turn a blind eye to its darker side, for the idols of power are always to be found intermarried with the idols of Mammon, and the combination is potent. It is potent enough to draw us to listen carefully to those who advocate politics as the only means of redemption available to us and to justify, in terms of necessary sacrifice, all the bloodshed and oppression that such idolatry has produced. For the state has this godlike capacity, apparently, to supply us with all blessings and to fulfill all our material needs. That is why we are devoted to it.
We like the utopianism that promises ever-increasing material prosperity—the utopianism that modern economic ideologies ranging across the entire political spectrum have at their core. We are comforted by the myth of endless progress via economic growth, facilitated by science and technology as means of control. The idols of power and Mammon are seductive. That is why Satan paraded them before Jesus on the high mountain, when he showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor and said, “All this I will give you . . . if you will bow down and worship me.” Jesus was thinking clearly and biblically at the time, however: “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only’ ” (Matt. 4:9–10).
It is this biblical clarity that modern Christians must strive for when confronted by power in the present, remembering that it does not always reveal itself to us in its terrifying aspect, but often in its more seductive aspect. The first and foremost conviction we must possess is that we are called to “worship the Lord our God, and serve him only.” We are always servants of God first and the servants of others second. There is no place in Christian thinking for any “God and . . . ,” for “God and . . .” is idolatry.
One of the most serious of these idolatries is “God and country.” It has milder and stronger forms. In its milder form, there is only a subtle, but certainly dangerous, elevation of the nation-state to a position in one’s life in which it is spoken of in the same breath as God. It is only a short step to the stronger and more deadly form, however, in which God is enlisted in support of one’s country, one’s culture, and one’s way of life; and it is assumed that to be Christian is to be, for example, American or English. Faith, flag, and country are an unholy trinity. The real Trinity has no interest in it and opposes it, for the whole earth is the Lord’s (Ps. 24:1), and the Lord has no interest in artificial human barriers and boundaries constructed out of self-interest, nor does he have any intention of being used to legitimate them.
God will not tolerate being located as one among a pantheon of gods. God is the only God there is. The modern nation-state, so deeply rooted in the affections of many—as we see not only in the wars of twentieth century but also in such areas of life as international sporting events (warfare by another name)—arose only in the aftermath of the dissolution of Christendom as a God-substitute. Thus it remains for many today.
Qohelet and those other biblical writers who touch on the matter of power and our response to it point us in a different direction. They remind us that God is Other, who cannot be recruited to any of our crusades or enlisted in support of the “American way of life”—or indeed any way of life. They remind us that God’s interests do not in any way coincide with our national interests. They allow that we must live within a particular culture and society and that we must come to terms, in various ways, with our context. They assume, however, that we will always be dancing to a different tune and responding to a different voice, even if we are doing it quietly. The biblical writers assume a distance between Christians and their culture or society—an alienation and a discomfort, at least, with the situation. They counsel due respect for authority, up to a point, and advocate caution and patience, but they do so in the assumption that sooner or later conflict will arise, at which time the worshipers of the living God will have to name as idols what others think of as gods.
To put the matter bluntly, the Bible, when read as a whole, does not advocate social conservatism, if by that is meant a passive, quietist acceptance of the way things are and a submergence of Christian identity beneath some other identity. It does not present the law-abiding citizen as a paragon of all virtue or offer support for the idea that it is always better to keep things more or less the way they were in the old days. It tells us, rather, that we must resist the pretensions of the powerful and keep their claims in divine perspective, that we must resist the suggestion that the state is our real provider and the real guarantor of our future happiness and security, that we must resist the notion that any person or institution has such mortal control over our destiny, whether temporal or eternal. We are always citizens of the kingdom of God first and citizens of our state second; and we are always to live in a way different from those who worship the idols of power and Mammon.
This represents something of a challenge, to put it mildly. To focus on the United States, where this commentary is most likely being read, I remember a conversation a few years ago with an American Christian, just after the U.S. government had arranged for the bombing of Libya. The discussion revolved around whether a Christian could support his government in carrying out such an action. After an extended debate involving much mutual incomprehension, he looked at me incredulously and said: “What you’re saying is that a Christian ought to be an internationalist!” The incredulity that accompanied what ought to be a statement of the obvious is the truly worrying thing.
Yet we are speaking here of a country in which many Christians place their hands over their hearts and talk to the flag (what is the religious significance of this action, exactly?), in which the national flag is commonly found positioned prominently in churches (often near the pulpit), in which “God and country” language is frequently and loudly heard, and in which Christians are as likely to become as angry as anyone else if American national interests are harmed in some way, especially if something is said or done to hurt the American economy. We can always tell what our real devotion and trust are given over to by noting when we feel most threatened, frightened, and angry. Noting this is the first step towards repentance.
To those who already understand this, a different word is necessary, for those who are already walking on the costly Christian way often feel estranged and homeless in the communities where they live (even in church communities). It is a difficult path to walk when even their Christian neighbors are not truly walking it with them. They admit they are “aliens and strangers on earth . . . looking for a country of their own . . . longing for a better country” (Heb. 11:13–16), but few are up for the journey. It is painful to be a Jeremiah, forced to choose between loyalty to God and loyalty to one’s country. It is still worse to suffer the persecution that Christians have always suffered as a result of making such choices, from the days of the Roman Empire until now. For these readers, it is important to remember texts like these:
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. (Matt. 5:10)
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 8:38–39)
And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross. (Col. 2:15)
And I saw the souls of those who had been beheaded because of their testimony for Jesus and because of the word of God. They had not worshiped the beast or his image and had not received his mark on their foreheads or their hands. They came to life and reigned with Christ a thousand years. (Rev. 20:4)