Decades ago, when I was a student at St. John’s College, the late great Leo Raditsa said he found the Calvinist doctrine of predestination to be a generous and comforting idea. I didn’t get it, I mean Calvin was all fire and brimstone, what was comforting in knowing you were going to hell and couldn’t do anything about it. But, Raditsa explained, no one can really live up to the behavior needed to get into heaven, we are all sinners. If your fate is pre-determined, you don’t worry so much about it. Do your best and have a life.
I’m not Christian, but I thought of Raditsa’s statement as I, along with Jews around the world, read Koheleth (better known as Ecclesiastes) two weeks ago. In Koheleth, the speaker pursues wealth, wisdom, pleasure, and great deeds. But ultimately finds little satisfaction in it. The key observations are that the wise man and the fool, the rich man and the pauper, will all end up in the same place: “All is vanity.”
Not exactly cheery stuff.
Why do we read this beautiful, haunting, and cynical work during Sukkot, the harvest festival, a time of great joy?
Kohelet enjoins us to enjoy life in moderation and within our means. Do not undertake great works, little will come of them: for all is vanity. This is the great gift we have been granted by the Almighty, to get such enjoyment. But great wealth, exotic pleasures, even wisdom and good deeds will not leave much of a mark. We’ll be forgotten soon after our deaths.
How exactly is that encouraging?
Sukkot comes after the Days of Awe (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) in which we come close to the Almighty and repent our sins. Awe is the right word: it means wonder combined with fear.
Several weeks ago, I saw this picture. Every light in the picture is not a star, it is a galaxy! A galaxy is huge on a scale we cannot comprehend, and the universe has galaxies like the grains of sand on a beach.
If one is a believer, then prayer is directed to the being that created and oversees all of this (and presumably more). We are absolute nothings in the face of the Almighty. If you really start to think about this it’s pretty humbling and frankly terrifying. We are enjoined to repent through prayer, charity, and good deeds. But what chance do we really have? We’ll fail before we even get started.
Then there is Sukkot, the harvest festival is a time of joy. The main injunction is to build a temporary dwelling (a sukkah) and dwell in it, and have people join you there. Sounds nice. It’s a nice break and change of pace after the spiritual rending of the Days of Awe. It’s a reminder that after all the talk of judgment, the sun will come up, the harvest will come, and the seasons will change.
As I write this, the world seems like an awful place. There is unbelievable anxiety and suffering—and there is so very little I (or most of us) can do about it. Koheleth acknowledges this. Not that we shouldn’t try, but we can also sit and enjoy the modest pleasures afforded us. That, in this terrible time, and in all times, is a comfort.