The Scroll

2 - Ink

Kohelet read his opening statement aloud and chuckled. If he had received even one small coin for each discussion over his premise that all human endeavors were futile, he would be richer than the king. Often those discussions had turned into arguments, for people were quick to assume he was saying their lives were completely meaningless. Countless times he had explained that his teaching was not about finding meaning but rather about enjoying the good things life had to offer today instead of always looking for a future reward from their work. Some got angry, for his words were a direct assault on their deep-seated dreams of one day getting ahead by working just a little harder or smarter.

He dipped his pen into the ink. His repetitive use of "futile" to introduce his talks was always followed by the question every human asked, whether they would admit it or not. He touched the nib to the scroll and carefully scratched out the words he'd voiced a thousand times, both to himself and to those he sought to teach in the way of the wise.

For what do we gain from all the work at which we toil under the sun?

The question always generated a quick response. Most pointed to their possessions—a better house, a new cart, a bigger market stall. There was no end to things people toiled to achieve and no denying their honest belief that they had gained something substantial in life. But he had observed human labor from every vantage point and had discovered that gaining something truly lasting from work was simply not possible. Getting ahead was not part of the equation.

The word he used for "gain" was yithron, a marketplace word everyone was familiar with, for yithron described the cash left over after all the expenses had been paid. It was a foundational business principle, but it was also how people viewed their lives as a whole. They believed that if they made an extra coin each day, their lives were moving forward. The growing pile of coins proved that their hard work could provide something that would last. Life would be better tomorrow, and their future would be secure. The pursuit of yithron got them up each day to chase the dream, but they could not see that the pursuit was a vapor—hebel—just the ongoing pursuit of futility.

The shaft of light from the rising sun crept closer to his jar of ink. The new day was already being marked and spent, and it was this relentless passing of time that was the driving force behind all human need to get ahead in life. Everyone needed to believe that what he or she was doing was worthwhile, for each day spent was also one less to live. They were investing their very lives into the pursuit of lasting gain.

He flicked another remnant of the previous writer's work from the scroll's surface. Each generation since the beginning of time had tried to make its mark on the world, but to no avail; the endless cycles of nature would always scrape away whatever people thought they might leave behind.

The words of an old poem said it best. He dipped the pen into the ink and carefully formed the words.

A generation comes and a generation goes, but the earth is not changed. The sun rises, the sun sets, then hurries back to where it rises again. The wind blows to the south, then turns to the north. Round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. The streams all flow to the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams came from, there they return again.

Kohelet leaned back in his chair. He had memorized those lines in the king's library, but it hadn't been until he was free of the palace walls and had time to walk about in the hills that the ongoing cycles of nature and the permanence of the earth finally hit home. In the city, with all the recent construction projects, it appeared that mankind was winning. The effects of decline and decay were continually covered with new paint, and a veneer of gold covered more base materials.

City dwellers found it easier to believe that mankind was making a monumental mark on the world, that they were marching together into a glorious future. But out in the countryside, he had walked over the ruins of ancient cities, now only mounds of weed-covered debris. Nature always won in the end. No matter how hard people worked, all their achievements would someday return to the earth. "Dust to dust" was more than a personal journey of cradle to corpse; it was the story of everything human.