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Ecclesiastes, part 3, The Futility of Philosophy

Ecclesiastes 1:12 (NASB) says,

¹² I, the Preacher, have been king over Israel in Jerusalem.

Most Bible translations read “I… was king over Israel.” The Hebrew verb (hāyîtî) is broad enough to mean either “was” or “have been,” but either way it indicates completion. “Was king” is more literal; “have been king” is more interpretive, but yet it emphasizes his completed role. It is an interpretive choice that is permissible but not demanded by the Hebrew text.

The Greek does not use a perfect tense (γεγένημαι, “I have become”) but instead uses ἐγενόμην, “I became/I was.” It does not suggest continuing present relevance It presents kingship as a past fact, not a present state.

This is part of the debate over whether the book was written by Solomon himself or later by another who followed in his footsteps (as was commonly done in those days).

Discovering Wisdom Through Philosophy

Ecclesiastes 1:13 says,

¹³ And I set my mind to seek and explore by wisdom [or philosophy] concerning all that has been done under heaven. It is a grievous task which God has given to the sons of men to be afflicted with.

Philosophy literally means the love of wisdom, implying one’s desire to discover wisdom. So the Preacher set his mind “to seek and explore by wisdom” in order to understand “all that has been done under heaven.” The Preacher admits at the outset that “it is a grievous task,” that afflicts the sons of men. Nature comes with no divine explanation, as evidenced by the vastly different views of the philosophers from various nations.

Biblical philosophy is rooted in God’s covenants and is therefore legal, rather than speculative.

Philosophy of the Logos

Greek philosophy, as we know it, began with Heraclitus of Ephesus (540–480 BC). Heraclitus’ teaching on the λόγος (logos) is one of the most profound and influential ideas in Western thought. The logos is the hidden rational structure by which all things exist, change, and remain coherent. Centuries later, the Apostle John, who also lived much of his life in Ephesus, used terminology from Heraclitus, though he identified the logos with Christ Himself.

For Heraclitus, logos is not merely “word” or “speech.” It is the rational principle that orders reality. It explains how everything changes, yet the world is not chaotic. He was famous for saying, “You cannot step into the same river twice.”

Opposites coexist paradoxically without destroying each other. To him, the logos was the Unity of Opposites. Heraclitus taught that reality is structured by tension: day/night; life/death; war/peace; up/down. He wrote:

“The way up and the way down are one and the same. (Fragment B60)

Logos, then, holds opposites together in a dynamic equilibrium.

He also wrote:

“Although this logos is eternal, humans are unable to understand it, both before hearing it and after they have heard it. All things come to pass in accordance with this logos…” (Fragment B1, Diels–Kranz):

To Heraclitus, wisdom means aligning one’s mind with the logos, submitting to the structure of reality, and letting go of long-held assumptions. Heraclitus often associates logos with fire, which transforms everything it touches.

“This world-order… was ever, is now, and ever shall be: an ever-living fire.” (Fragment B30)

Heraclitus’ logos is impersonal, invisible rational law of the universre, ordering, and eternal. John’s Logos (John 1:1) is personal (Christ), creative, relational, and incarnate. John is not borrowing Heraclitus uncritically—he is redefining logos from a biblical perspective.

Heraclitus: Logos orders the world (“All things come to pass according to this logos” Fragment B1). This was the basis of later Stoic philosophy of Fate.

John: The Logos first created all things and later became flesh. Christ the Creator is therefore Sovereign.

The conceptual bridge is real—but the theology is radically transformed. Fate is impersonal and philosophical. Sovereignty is personal and legal, being based on the lawful rights of the Creator.

Philo of Alexandria (20-50 A.D.)

Philo was a philosophical bridge between Greek philosophy and John’s gospel. Philo was a Hellenistic Jew living in Alexandria, Egypt. Philo asserted: The Logos is with God; The Logos is the agent of creation; and the Logos reveals God.

In John 1:1 the apostle draws the attention of Greek philosophers by setting forth principles that many of them already believed. John acknowledges as much of Greek philosophy as he can, showing common ground. This common ground abruptly ends in John 1:14, “and the Logos became flesh and dwelt among us.”

Logos is not a principle or abstraction; Logos is a who, not a what. Further, “the Logos was God” (not merely from God). This Logos took human flesh and entered history. He spoke, He suffered, He died, and He rose again. The Logos is therefore Personal, the result of a loving God who reached down into the full human experience so that we can be raised up into the divine experience. Logos does not merely explain the world; Logos also reveals the Father.

Greek philosophy sought to make a disorderly world orderly and rational through an impersonal logos; Hebrew Scripture proclaimed that a personal Logos who brings order to the world has a face and a name. From Heraclitus to Philo to John, logos moves from an impersonal rational principle governing change, to a divine mediating reason, and finally to the personal, incarnate Word—Jesus Christ—through whom God creates, reveals, and redeems.

In writing his gospel, John uses Heraclitus’ demand—to be willing to change and give up past assumptions of truth—to set forth a greater understanding of God and His relationship to man and creation as a whole. John’s basic philosophical principles are set forth in his opening statements, and from then on he presents Christ as the Personal Logos who lived among us. Samples of His earthly ministry are presented so that the readers might come to know Him.

The Preacher’s View of Philosophy

The preacher claims that the pursuit of (earthly) wisdom “is a grievous task” that afflicts all who seek wisdom apart from divine revelation of Scripture. So he writes in Ecclesiastes 1:14, 15,

¹⁴ I have seen all the works which have been done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity [temporal, fleeting] and striving after wind. ¹⁵ What is crooked cannot be straightened and what is lacking cannot be counted [lehimmānôt, “numbered or calculated”].

Mortality casts all philosophy to the wind. Adamic sin has made everything irreversibly “crooked.” The loss is incalculable. The deficit cannot be made good by accounting. The missing amount cannot be added back. The books cannot be balanced. No adjustment can restore equilibrium. Death cannot be avoided or reversed (by human wisdom).

This verse directly challenges retribution theology (“everything balances out”), wisdom optimism (“skill fixes outcomes”), and moral bookkeeping (“good deeds offset loss”).

Ecclesiastes 1:16-18 says further,

¹⁶ I said to myself, “Behold, I have magnified and increased wisdom more than all who were over Jerusalem before me; and my mind has observed a wealth of wisdom and knowledge.” ¹⁷ And I set my mind to know wisdom and to know madness and folly; I realized that this also is striving after wind, ¹⁸ because in much wisdom there is much grief, and increasing knowledge results in increasing pain.

To know any truth, one must also know what is false. To know light, one must know darkness. To know good, one must also understand its contrasting evil. Everything is comparative. We call it the Blackboard Effect. Unfortunately, this means we cannot really understand “madness and folly” either. To try to understand evil “is striving after wind.”

The First Failed Experiment

The Preacher came to the conclusion that the wisdom of this world, set forth by philosophers only comes to grief and pain. To arrive at that helpless conclusion after many years of searching for truth is a painful end and very discouraging.

Wisdom increases pain because it exposes injustice without fixing it, it perceives mortality more clearly, it increases awareness of our limitations, and it even removes comforting illusions. Ignorance may be false—but it is less painful. Wisdom remains valuable, but it deepens pain precisely because it tells the truth. In this, Koheleth anticipates Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), who also sought to strip away all illusions (including belief in God), but realizing in the end that he was establishing a life of pain that had no meaning without God and without hope of resurrection. He died in an insane asylum.

So ends Koheleth’s first controlled experiment. Wisdom was tested first. The Preacher had “magnified” wisdom, thinking it was the highest human resource—but he found that wisdom was overblown. It was unable to deliver ultimate meaning or enduring profit. Wisdom reveals reality—but revelation is not redemption. So it failed him in the end. After an exhaustive investigation into wisdom, he received a negative result.