Dialetheism in Ecclesiastes
Uncommon Sense and The Paradoxical Nature of Wisdom
The Book of Ecclesiastes, traditionally attributed to King Solomon in his old age, is one of the most enigmatic and philosophically provocative texts in the Hebrew Bible.
On the surface, the book appears to vacillate between world-weary cynicism and conventional piety. The speaker, Qoheleth (often translated as “The Preacher” or “The Teacher”), declares that “all is vanity” and “there is nothing new under the sun,” seemingly rejecting the possibility of finding meaning or purpose in life.
Yet the same speaker also urges reverence for God and keeping His commandments. How do we make sense of these apparently contradictory perspectives?
Central to this reading is recognizing a dialetheist thread woven throughout the text — an affirmation of true contradictions that resist easy resolution.
A frame through which Ecclesiastes can be deeply unfurled in its philosophical content lies in recognizing its underlying dialetheistic logic. Dialetheism is the view that there are true contradictions — statements that are both true and false simultaneously.
While this may seem absurd or impossible to classical logicians, dialetheists argue that some domains of discourse, such as semantics, set theory, and quantum mechanics, give rise to irresolvable paradoxes that can only be adequately captured by embracing true contradictions.
Explaining Dialetheism
Before diving into Ecclesiastes, consider some vivid examples that motivate dialetheism.
Consider the statement, “This sentence is false.” If the sentence is true, then it is false. But if it is false, then it is true. The sentence seems to be both true and untrue at the same time — a genuine paradox. This is known as “the liar’s paradox.”
In naive set theory, we can define a set R as the set of all sets that are not members of themselves. Is R a member of itself? If it is, then by definition, it is not. But if R is not a member of itself, then it meets the criterion for membership, and so it must belong to itself after all. Once again, we are confronted with a true contradiction. This is known as “Russell’s Paradox,” named after the 20th-century philosopher Bertrand Russell.
In quantum mechanics, particularly in what is known as “wave-particle duality,” entities like photons and electrons exhibit properties of both waves and particles, depending on the experimental context. This violates the law of non-contradiction: how can light simultaneously be a wave and a particle, two mutually exclusive categories? Yet this is what the world’s most rigorously tested scientific theory demands.
Such cases suggest that reality itself, not just our descriptions of it, might be inconsistent. The dialetheist contends that the law of non-contradiction, while reliable in many domains, is not an inviolable principle of logic. There are contexts, often at the limits of thought and language, where “both/and” takes precedence over “either/or.”
Dialetheism in Ecclesiastes
With this background in mind, let us turn to Ecclesiastes. The book’s most famous refrain is, “Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth, vanity of vanities! All is vanity” (Eccl. 1:2).
But what exactly is the Preacher claiming here? It is not a simple assertion of life’s futility or meaninglessness. Instead, it recognizes the irreconcilable tensions and contradictions that pervade human existence.
Throughout the book, Qoheleth juxtaposes opposites in a way that suggests their mutual implication and interdependence:
For everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill and a time to heal;
a time to break down and a time to build up;
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance… (Eccl. 3:1–4)
Birth and death, planting and uprooting, killing and healing, breaking and building, weeping and laughter, mourning and dancing — all of these contain each other, feed into each other, define each other.
One cannot exist without the other. They are opposed yet inextricably entwined.
Likewise, Qoheleth observes the coexistence of good and evil, wisdom and folly, righteousness and wickedness:
In my vain life I have seen everything; there are righteous people who perish in their righteousness, and there are wicked people who prolong their life in their evildoing. (Eccl. 7:15)
Surely there is not a righteous man on earth who does good and never sins. (Eccl. 7:20)
Again, I saw that under the sun, the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to the skillful, but time and chance happen to them all. (Eccl. 9:11)
In a world governed by “time and chance,” moral categories like righteousness and wickedness become blurred and relativized. The righteous suffer while the wicked prosper; wisdom goes unrewarded while folly goes unpunished. Good and evil intermingle and interpenetrate to such a degree that they become almost indistinguishable.
Yet perhaps the most striking example of Ecclesiastes’ dialetheist logic comes in its treatment of divine justice:
God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for he has appointed a time for every matter, and for every work. (Eccl. 3:17)
Though sinners do evil a hundred times and prolong their lives, yet I know that it will be well with those who fear God, because they stand in fear before him, but it will not be well with the wicked, neither will they prolong their days like a shadow, because they do not stand in fear before God. (Eccl. 8:12–13)
On the one hand, Qoheleth affirms the reality of divine judgment and the ultimate triumph of righteousness. On the other hand, he candidly acknowledges the ubiquity of injustice and the frequent impunity of evildoers.
God judges, yet judgment is deferred; the fear of God is beneficial, yet the wicked often enjoy long and prosperous lives. Once again, contradiction rears its head.
So what are we to make of all this?
Ecclesiastes is not merely a disjointed collection of pessimistic musings but a sustained meditation on the paradoxical nature of reality itself. In a world shot through with contradiction and apparent arbitrariness, neat philosophical systems and tidy moral maxims will always fall short.
Wisdom lies in accepting, even embracing, the irreducible complexities and tensions of the human condition. This is not to say that Ecclesiastes counsels despair or nihilism—though, upon a cursory reading, that is precisely what it appears to urge.
On the contrary, Qoheleth repeatedly exhorts his readers to enjoy simple pleasures — eating, drinking, finding work satisfaction, and companionship in marriage (Eccl. 2:24, 9:7–10) — not despite life’s absurdities, but because of them. The elusiveness of a rationally ordered cosmos makes gratitude for each day’s gifts all the more imperative.
Moreover, the book concludes by reaffirming the foundational tenet of the Jewish faith: “Fear God, and keep his commandments; for that is the whole duty of everyone” (Eccl. 12:13).
Qoheleth does not allow his unflinching gaze into reality’s inconsistencies to negate his commitment to righteousness. Instead, he calls us to live ethically and reverently amid unsolvable ambiguity.
Conventional Examples of Dialetheism in Ecclesiastes
The dialetheistic thread in Ecclesiastes can be further illuminated by examining how the book’s paradoxes and contradictions parallel conventional examples of dialetheism, such as the liar’s paradox and Russell’s paradox.
In the case of the liar’s paradox, the statement “This sentence is false” creates a self-referential loop that seems to affirm both truth and falsity simultaneously.
Similarly, Ecclesiastes often makes assertions that contradict each other, such as the coexistence of divine justice and the prosperity of the wicked (Eccl. 3:17, 8:12–13). These passages create a paradoxical loop, where the affirmation of one proposition seems to negate the other, yet both are presented as true.
Russell’s paradox arises from the self-referential definition of a set containing all sets that do not contain themselves. This paradox finds an echo in Ecclesiastes’ reflections on the cyclical nature of existence: “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun” (Eccl. 1:9).
The idea of eternal recurrence creates a self-referential loop, where the set of all events contains itself, leading to a paradox similar to Russell’s.
Moreover, the wave-particle duality in quantum mechanics, which simultaneously presents light as a wave and a particle, finds parallel in Ecclesiastes’ treatment of wisdom and folly, righteousness and wickedness. Just as light exhibits contradictory properties depending on the context, so too do human actions and attributes appear paradoxical when viewed from different perspectives.
Qoheleth recognizes that “there is a righteous man who perishes in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man who prolongs his life in his evildoing” (Eccl. 7:15), suggesting that moral categories are not as clear-cut as they might seem.
By understanding how Ecclesiastes’ paradoxes mirror these conventional examples of dialetheism, we can appreciate the book’s profound insights into the nature of reality and the human condition.
Eternal Recurrence and the Firmament
Qoheleth’s famous declaration that “there is no new thing under the sun” (Eccl. 1:9) points to a deep insight into the nature of time and being. All that exists is caught up in an infinite web of relations, where beginnings and endings dissolve into the ceaseless flux of becoming.
As the text puts it, “That which hath been is that which shall be; and that which hath been done is that which shall be done” (Eccl. 1:9). This eternal recurrence is not merely a cycle of events but the very structure of reality itself.
Indeed, we might read the laying of the firmament in Genesis 1 not as a singular event bounded by linear time but as a symbolic representation of the eternal self-differentiation of the Absolute.
God’s creative act is an ongoing process, a perpetual splitting of the primordial waters that gives rise to the multiplicity of finite beings.
At both the macrocosmic and microcosmic scales, this divine pulsation unfolds ad infinitum, weaving the fabric of existence from the interplay of force (as primary), energy (as mediatory), and matter (as secondary).
The Intertwining of Opposites
Ecclesiastes repeatedly juxtaposes opposites in a way that suggests their mutual implication and co-arising.
Wisdom and folly, righteousness and wickedness, mourning and laughter — these pairs are not simply contrasted but shown to contain and define each other.
As Qoheleth observes, “That which is crooked cannot be made straight, and that which is wanting cannot be numbered” (Eccl. 1:15). The crooked (custom, convention, alterity) and the wanting (desire, eros) are inextricable from their counterparts, wisdom, and logos.
Yet this recognition is not a call for a facile relativism or an abandonment of all distinctions.
Instead, it is an invitation to seek a higher synthesis, a harmony born of the tension between opposites. Wisdom is tempered by desire, logos, and eros in balance.
This is the narrow path that Ecclesiastes charts between the extremes of rigid moralism and unrestrained hedonism. To walk this path is to embrace life’s contradictions while refusing to absolutize them, affirming the joy and the sorrow of existence without clinging to either.
The Vanity of Striving
Ecclesiastes’ famous refrain, “all is vanity,” takes on new meaning in light of its dialetheistic logic.
The Hebrew word translated as “vanity,” ‘Hebel,’ might better be rendered as “breath” or “vapor” — something ephemeral, insubstantial, even deceptive.
When Qoheleth declares that “all the works that my hands had wrought” were “vanity and a striving after wind” (Eccl. 2:11), he is not simply dismissing them as worthless. Instead, he is recognizing their ultimate emptiness when viewed from the standpoint of the Absolute.
All human striving, all the “profit under the sun,” is like chasing after the wind — futile not because it is meaningless but because it is finite.
From the perspective of ultimate reality, all conventional pursuits and distinctions are equalized, revealed as transient expressions of a more profound unity.
This is the wisdom of amor fati, the love of fate, and wu wei, the art of non-contrivance. To embrace vanity — the dependent origination of all distinctions in a self-same unity — is to let go of the illusion of permanence and control, to flow with the current of becoming rather than fighting against it.
The Paradox of Wisdom
Yet even as Ecclesiastes recognizes the limits of human wisdom, it also affirms its value and necessity.
Qoheleth’s repeated exhortations to seek wisdom (e.g., Eccl. 7:11–12, 8:1) sit uneasily alongside his acknowledgment that “in much wisdom is much grief” and that “he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow” (Eccl. 1:18).
This tension points to the paradoxical nature of wisdom itself — a virtue that is at once indispensable and insufficient, a light that illuminates even as it casts shadows.
True wisdom, for Ecclesiastes, is not a matter of accumulating knowledge or adhering to dogmas. It is a way of being in the world that combines discernment with humility and conviction with openness. The wise heart knows when to mourn and when to laugh (Eccl. 7:4), when to speak and when to keep silent (Eccl. 3:7).
It seeks the Aristotelian mean between righteousness and wickedness (Eccl. 7:16–18), recognizing that human perfection is impossible and that even our best intentions can lead us astray. Above all, wisdom in Ecclesiastes is marked by a profound sense of the limits of human understanding, especially concerning God.
As Qoheleth admits, “That which is is far off and exceeding deep; who can find it out?” (Eccl. 7:24). God's works are ultimately inscrutable, beyond the grasp of even the most penetrating intellect (Eccl. 8:17). To be wise is to acknowledge this epistemic humility, to recognize that all our knowledge is provisional and partial.
The Equality of All Things
In the end, Ecclesiastes’ dialetheistic vision affirms the ultimate equality of all things in the face of the Absolute. From the standpoint of eternity, the distinctions that loom so large in human affairs — between rich and poor, high and low, righteous and wicked — are revealed as fleeting and contingent.
As Qoheleth observes, “I have seen servants upon horses and princes walking as servants upon the earth” (Eccl. 10:7). The vicissitudes of fortune may elevate some and cast down others. Still, they do not alter the fundamental reality of our shared finitude and dependence.
This recognition is not a counsel of despair but a call to humility and solidarity. If all are equal before God, then none can claim ultimate superiority over others.
The wise and the foolish, the just and the unjust, are all threads in the vast network of being[s], all subject to the same joys and sorrows, hopes and fears. To see this is to be liberated from the prison of self-righteousness and the delusion of autonomy.
Ecclesiastes’ dialetheist wisdom is a wisdom of paradox, embracing life’s irreducible contradictions. It recognizes the co-arising of opposites, the transience of all things, and the ultimate equality of all beings in the face of the Absolute.
To walk the path of this wisdom is to live with authenticity and compassion, affirm both the beauty and the brokenness of the world, and love both the crooked and the straight. This path is not easy, for it demands that we relinquish our certainties and illusions of control. Yet, it leads to more profound joy and a more expansive sense of self.
As Nietzsche states in his third Untimely Meditation, Schopenhauer as Educator:
No one can construct for you the bridge upon which precisely you must cross the stream of life, no one but you yourself alone. There are, to be sure, countless paths and bridges and demi-gods which would bear you through this stream; but only at the cost of yourself: you would put yourself in pawn and lose yourself. There exists in the world a single path along which no one can go except you: whither does it lead? Do not ask, go along it. Who was it who said: ‘a man never rises higher than when he does not know whither his path can still lead him’?
In embracing the contradictions of existence, we find a unity that transcends them. In accepting our finitude, we touch the infinite. In letting go of our striving, we see our true home in the eternal now.
In the end, Ecclesiastes is not a book of answers but questions that unsettle and disorient, shattering our complacency and hubris. Yet in the very asking of these questions, in the willingness to dwell in the space of unknowing lies the beginning of wisdom.
For it is only in the domain of doubt and wonder that true faith can be forged — a faith that is not blind belief but radical openness, not grim resignation but grateful surrender.
To read Ecclesiastes through the frame of dialetheism is to enter into this space of radical openness, to embrace the paradoxes and perplexities of existence as portals to a more profound truth. It is to recognize that the way beyond the contradictions is through them, that the path to wholeness is the path of brokenness itself. In the end, as in the beginning, all is vanity — and in that vanity, all is grace.
Ecclesiastes’ message is not one of nihilistic despair but of a chastened, clear-eyed hope.
Life under the sun may be feeble, fleeting, and insubstantial, but it is also shot through with beauty, wonder, and the fierce joy of being. To live well is to hold these truths in dynamic tension, to dance on the knife’s edge where opposites converge.
Such is the strange and sacred gift of our existence — an existence that is both a breath and an eternity, a shadow and a substance, forever caught between dust and divinity.
