The Great Leveler and the Great Divide
Introduction: The Justice Delusion
We live in an age that is absolutely drunk on the word justice. Our politicians, our activists, our universities, and our talking heads are all clamoring for justice. They demand it, they protest for it, they riot for it. But if you look closely at what they build, you will find, as the Preacher did, that in the very place of justice, there is wickedness. The revolutionary court is more bloodthirsty than the king's court. The committee for public safety is the most dangerous place in town. The human resources department, established to ensure fairness, becomes a hive of petty tyranny and ideological enforcement.
The secular man sees this and has only two options: despair or denial. He can become a bitter cynic, concluding that life is a meaningless power game, or he can double down on his utopian delusions, insisting that if we just try one more program, one more revolution, we can finally build a just world. Both are roads to madness. Both are the inevitable result of trying to understand the world "under the sun," without reference to the God who is over the sun.
The Preacher, Solomon, is not a man in despair. He is a man with his eyes wide open. He sees the world for what it is. He sees the brutal, discouraging facts on the ground. But unlike the modern secularist, he does not stop there. He processes these hard realities through a theological grid. He looks at the horizontal problem of human injustice and applies the vertical solution of God's sovereignty. What he finds is not a reason to despair, but a reason to be humble, and a reason to be glad.
This passage is a bucket of cold water in the face of all human pride. It tells us that our high-minded pursuits of justice often curdle into wickedness, and that apart from God, our ultimate destiny is no different than that of a beast. This is not meant to crush us, but to crush our pretensions, so that we might find our joy not in our own abilities to fix the world, but in our God-given portion within it.
The Text
Furthermore, I have seen under the sun that in the place of justice there is wickedness, and in the place of righteousness there is wickedness. I said in my heart, "God will judge both the righteous man and the wicked man," for a time for every matter and for every work is there. I said in my heart concerning the sons of men, "God is testing them in order for them to see that they are but beasts." For the fate of the sons of men and the fate of beasts is the same fate for each of them. As one dies so dies the other, and they all have the same breath. So there is no advantage for man over beast, for all is vanity. All go to the same place. All came from the dust, and all return to the dust. Who knows that the breath of man ascends upward and the breath of the beast descends downward to the earth? I have seen that nothing is better than that man should be glad in his works, for that is his portion. For who will bring him to see what will occur after him?
(Ecclesiastes 3:16-22 LSB)
The Crooked Bench (v. 16)
The Preacher begins with a jarring observation.
"Furthermore, I have seen under the sun that in the place of justice there is wickedness, and in the place of righteousness there is wickedness." (Ecclesiastes 3:16)
This is not just noting that there is evil in the world. This is more specific, and therefore more scandalous. He sees wickedness precisely where it should not be: in the place of justice, in the courts, in the halls of government. The very institutions designed to restrain evil have become incubators for it. The place where righteousness is supposed to be upheld is the very place where you find more wickedness.
This is the nature of sin in a fallen world. Sin is not just a failure to do good; it is an active perversion of the good. Man, in his rebellion, takes the good gifts of God, like law and order, and twists them into instruments of oppression and self-interest. When a society abandons God as the ultimate lawgiver, its laws do not become neutral. They become tools in the hands of the wicked. We should not be shocked when we see this. We should expect it. This is what happens when men try to be their own gods. Their attempts to create heaven on earth invariably create a very efficient hell.
The Ultimate Verdict (v. 17)
Faced with this institutional corruption, the Preacher does not form a committee or start a protest. His first move is internal and theological.
"I said in my heart, 'God will judge both the righteous man and the wicked man,' for a time for every matter and for every work is there." (Ecclesiastes 3:17)
This is the anchor for the soul in a world of injustice. The crooked human courts are not the final word. There is a higher court, and its judge is perfectly righteous. He sees everything. The wicked man who perverts justice and the righteous man who suffers under it will both stand before God. This is not a pious platitude; it is the foundational presupposition that makes sense of history.
Notice the connection to the beginning of the chapter. "For a time for every matter and for every work is there." Just as there is a time to be born and a time to die, there is a set time for judgment. God is not frantic. He is not wringing His hands over the injustice in the world. The accounts will be settled. Every corrupt judge, every false witness, every wicked law will be brought into the light. This confidence in future divine judgment is what keeps the righteous from becoming either cynical or vengeful.
The Humbling Test (v. 18-20)
God has a purpose in allowing this injustice to persist for a time. It serves as a divine test.
"I said in my heart concerning the sons of men, 'God is testing them in order for them to see that they are but beasts.'" (Ecclesiastes 3:18)
This is a staggering thought. God allows the systems of men to rot from the inside out to show men what they are made of. When you strip away the fine robes, the fancy titles, and the high-minded rhetoric, what are you left with? Beasts. Men, driven by appetite and instinct, fighting for dominance. God lets our political projects fail so that we might see our own creaturely limitations.
The Preacher then explains this comparison in the starkest possible terms. From the perspective of "under the sun," man's final end is identical to that of an animal.
"For the fate of the sons of men and the fate of beasts is the same fate... As one dies so dies the other... there is no advantage for man over beast, for all is vanity. All go to the same place. All came from the dust, and all return to the dust." (Ecclesiastes 3:19-20)
Both have the same "breath," the Hebrew word is `ruach`. Both die. Both decompose. This is the great leveler. The philosopher and the field mouse both end up as dust. All our pride, all our accomplishments, all our striving, is `hebel`, a vapor, a puff of smoke. If you limit your worldview to what you can see and measure, then you must conclude that death is the final answer, and there is no ultimate difference between a man and a pig. This is a brutal, necessary assault on humanism. God is forcing us to confront our mortality so that we might look for a hope that is not buried in the dust.
The Question That Changes Everything (v. 21)
Right after establishing the grim equality of death, the Preacher asks the pivotal question.
"Who knows that the breath of man ascends upward and the breath of the beast descends downward to the earth?" (Ecclesiastes 3:21)
This is not a question of agnostic despair. It is a rhetorical question that exposes the limits of a purely materialistic worldview. If you only look "under the sun," you cannot know the answer. You can dissect a man and a dog, and you will find organs and blood and tissue. You will not find a soul ascending to God. Empirical observation can only get you to the grave. It cannot see beyond it.
This is the point where revelation must break in. "Who knows?" The man of faith knows. We know because God has told us. The spirit, the `ruach`, of man does not just dissipate. It returns to God who gave it (Ecclesiastes 12:7). This is the great divide. While our bodies share the fate of the beasts, our souls do not. We are moral creatures made in God's image, destined for an eternal judgment and, for those in Christ, an eternal fellowship with God. The materialist is blind to this reality, and so his philosophy ends in the dirt.
The New Testament answers this question with the blinding light of the empty tomb. Who knows what happens after death? Jesus knows. He has been there and back. He is the firstfruits of the resurrection, and He guarantees that for those who are His, the spirit ascends to glory and the body will one day be raised to join it.
"I have seen that nothing is better than that man should be glad in his works, for that is his portion. For who will bring him to see what will occur after him?" (Ecclesiastes 3:22)
Here is the practical conclusion. Given the reality of injustice, the certainty of death, and the hope of a future judgment, what is a man to do? He is to be glad in his work. This is not a grim resignation to fate. It is a joyful acceptance of a divine gift. God has given you your work to do, your "portion." Whether you are a mother, a carpenter, a student, or a king, your daily labor is your assigned post.
Find your joy there. Don't live for the weekend. Don't live for retirement. Don't live in bitterness over the world's injustices or in paralyzing fear of death. Receive your daily bread and your daily work with thanksgiving. This is sanctified realism. You cannot control the corrupt courts, and you cannot see the future. But you can faithfully and joyfully do the work that God has put in front of you today.
And that final question, "For who will bring him to see what will occur after him?" is answered for the Christian. Jesus Christ brings us to see what will be. Through His Word, He gives us promises of the future, and by His Spirit, He enables us to work joyfully in the present. Our gladness in our work is not an escape from reality, but a confident expression of faith in the God who will one day make all things new.
Conclusion: Dust and Glory
The world offers two dead ends: the arrogant pride of the utopian who thinks he can perfect the world, and the black despair of the nihilist who thinks it is all meaningless. Both are rooted in a refusal to look beyond the sun.
The wisdom of God, through the Preacher, gives us a better way. First, it humbles us to the point of dust. It forces us to see our creatureliness, our mortality, our beast-like end when left to ourselves. It reminds us that our institutions are corrupt and our hearts are wicked. But it does not leave us in the dust.
It then lifts our eyes to the God who judges, the God who has revealed the great divide between the fate of man and the fate of beasts. Our spirits are not destined for the dirt, but for the presence of God. And because of this great hope, we are freed. We are freed from the burden of having to fix the world, and we are freed to joyfully receive our portion within it. We can go to our work with gladness, not because our work is the ultimate thing, but because we serve the ultimate God, who holds all our times, and our final judgment, in His hands.