Read: Ecclesiastes 1
Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity (Ecclesiastes 1:2, NRSV).
I was watching a murder mystery the other day. It was in Italian, but the subtitles made sense of it for me. Or at least, they made sense until the detective turned to the bereaved wife and assured her that the police would do their utmost to “frame” the murderer.
I’m pretty sure that’s not what the detective meant. “Convict” maybe, but not “frame.” Something had gotten lost in translation.
So it is with this famous verse from the book of Ecclesiastes. The Hebrew word at issue is hevel. The NRSV renders this as “vanity,” which makes it sound like something a narcissist would get up to. We even have a piece of furniture by that name which features—predictably—a mirror. I once re-painted an antique vanity for my daughter’s room. Before I put my paintbrush away, I couldn’t resist writing “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity!” on the bottom of the vanity’s drawer. Someday, she’ll find it and roll her eyes at her mother’s weakness for bad Old Testament jokes.
Of course, the English word “vanity” can also mean “the quality of being worthless or futile.” That seems to be the sense that the NIV wants to emphasize with this translation:
“Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”
While this rendering makes more sense than “vanity” in contemporary English, it couldn’t be more misleading. In fact, this translation actually twists the meaning of the Hebrew word into the exact opposite of what the Teacher is trying to convey.
Maybe it will help to know that the name “Abel” is based on this same Hebrew word: hevel. Abel, as you’ll recall, is the name of Cain’s ill-fated brother in Genesis 4. It’s the Bible’s first murder mystery, and Abel is the victim.
Ancient listeners must have felt a chill when they first heard Abel’s name. Like the Hebrew word on which his name is based, it means “ephemeral.” When you’re introduced to a character with that name, it’s a sign that you’d best not get too attached. He won’t be around for very long.
No reader of Genesis 4 would argue that Abel life is “meaningless.” In fact, one could argue that the brevity of his life makes it even more meaningful. We should cherish even more those things that are only with us for a short time.
This, I think, is what the Teacher is trying to tell us in this famous—but misunderstood—verse from Ecclesiastes. When he reminds us that “all is hevel,” he is telling us to savor our “one wild and precious life” (Mary Oliver). Or to quote another poet, Robert Herrick:
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
Ponder: What do you think? Is life “meaningless” or “ephemeral”?
Pray: Teach us to treasure every moment of our short but precious lives, O God.
This reflection is the first in a new series called, “What a Difference a Word Makes.” Here is the series introduction:
If you’ve ever tried to learn a new language, you’ll know that it can be a humbling experience. For my sins, I’ve been trying to learn Italian. I once tried to order a cheese gelato when I was trying to order a strawberry gelato. The waitress’s face was my first clue that something was amiss. OK, so the only thing that formaggio and fragola have in common is the letter “f,” but I maintain that it was an understandable mistake.
Then there are the words that sound almost identical to the untrained ear but carry quite different meanings. If you’re trying to order pesce for dinner and you accidentally ask for pesche, you’ll get peaches instead of fish. And don’t even get me started on the “false friends”—words that are spelled exactly the same way in both languages but mean vastly different things. These are “false friends” because they lure the novice into a sense of false confidence. “Ah,” she says to herself. “I know what a piano is!” No, you don’t. This becomes obvious when someone tells you they live on the first piano. That’s how they refer to the floors of a building in Italy. Oops.
None of this should come as a surprise to me, since I’ve been translating Hebrew for over thirty years in my capacity as an Old Testament professor. Still, it has reminded me of just how much interpretation goes into translation.
In this series, I’d like to highlight a handful of words that may be translated in different ways, but which have very different meanings. This can make a huge difference for how we interpret a passage. In some cases, a bad choice can skew one’s entire theology. Words have power.
Curious? Then read this series. It’s called, “What a Difference a Word Makes.”
Enjoy!
Carol M. Bechtel
P.S. If you have been reading these blogs faithfully from the get-go, you will notice that I am revisiting a few of my favorite “teachable moments.” Consider it a review! I’m hoping that it will be useful to group all of these key passages in one place.