Wisdom And The Art Of Dying In Ecclesiastes

As we commemorate the faithful departed on November 2, death becomes a relevant topic of self-reflection.

About our last instant on this Earth, Qoheleth writes:

“Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come
and the years approach of which you will say, I have no pleasure in them;
before the sun is darkened. and the light, and the moon, and the stars, while the clouds return after the rain;
when the guardians of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent,
and the grinders are idle because they are few, and they who look through the windows grow blind;

when the doors to the street are shut, and the sound of the mill is low;
when one waits for the chirp of a bird, but all the daughters of song are suppressed;
and one fears heights, and perils in the street;
when the almond tree blooms, and the locust grows sluggish and the caper berry is without effect,

because man goes to his lasting home, and mourners go about the streets;
before the silver cord is snapped and the golden bowl is broken,
and the pitcher is shattered at the spring, and the broken pulley falls into the well,
and the dust returns to the earth as it once was, and the life breath returns to God who gave it.” (Qoh 12:1-7)

These words of Qoheleth are a poem that practically concludes his work.
The Talmud finds in this poem an allegory of death — and, indeed, in a most poetic way, showing the depth of his wisdom, Qoheleth confronts us with our final destiny here on earth: death.

And this provokes several reflections, because thinking about death always touches a sensitive nerve.
The truth is that God made us for life, and for that very reason none of us wishes to die; yet we know that this is where we are headed — toward an unavoidable reality.

Realizing youth isn’t perpetual

The first verses of this poem — “Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near when you will say, ‘I find no pleasure in them,’” and later, when it says “when people are afraid of heights” — remind me of a poem I learned long ago. It tells of a child who wished to be a fish and dipped his feet into the river:

The child wished to be a fish,
He dipped his feet where the waters swish;
But the river was cold and deep and wide,
So he left the dream by the riverside.

The child wished to be a bird,
To rise where only wings are heard;
But the sky was high, the air too thin,
So he let the dream drift out again.

The child wished to be a hound,
He barked until the echoes bound;
But the cat replied with scratch and sneer,
And the child let go that dream in fear.

The child wished to be a man,
He counted years as best he can;
But the years were heavy, the time unkind,
So he left that weary dream behind.

He wished no more to grow at all—
A child content, serene and small;
He loved the days of laugh and play,
But time, relentless, took them away.

And one afternoon, returning
To his little school of old,
The man wished to be a child again,
But could not anymore.

Life inevitably carries us through each of its stages until, finally, it confronts us with that moment when the lights go out — when the moon and the stars grow dark.

The contemplation of our ending

But Qoheleth not only leads us to contemplate that ending; he gives us a crucial recommendation for life:
“Remember your Creator in the days of your youth.”

If life consists in living for God, and wisdom consists in the art of living, then to live this life that God has given us artistically means to live it in God — not only for God, but in God.

This poem by Qoheleth is the high point of his work, yet it also proposes the summit of wisdom by confronting us with our death here on earth.
For again, if wisdom is the art of living, then to be wise and to reach the height of wisdom implies, indeed, mastering the art of dying.

And just as, in order to live artfully, one must live with God, so too, in order to die artfully, one must die in God.

A path to follow in life

In the end, this book traces out a path for us: to continue pursuing that wisdom in this temporal life, without losing the compass that always points to God.

Saint John Paul II once said that the way Qoheleth describes death reminds us that clinging to the things of this temporal life is utterly meaningless.

After all, everything is vanity and a chasing after the wind (v. 1:14b).

However, the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches us that this aspect of death gives urgency to our lives.
The remembrance of our mortality serves to make us realize that we have only a limited time to bring our lives to fulfillment.

Thus, knowing that our life is limited — and becoming aware of that reality through these words of Qoheleth — gives us the urgency to live, to live this life to the fullest, the life that we do not know when will come to its end.
All the more reason to live it to the fullest, for God gave us life to live it abundantly.

But, as Saint John Paul II wisely warns, without clinging to the things of the earth.
Something that may seem difficult, but for one who remembers God from his youth, it will undoubtedly be easier to live — even amid the inevitable trials that come with maturing and aging — always seeking God.

To be wise means to master the art of dying

Wisdom: the art of living, and the art of dying well. All this is what Qoheleth reminds us of, as he closes his book by exhorting us to fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the duty of every person.

Because God will judge, in the end, what is good and what is evil in all that is done — even in what is hidden (Cfr. v. 12:14)