But Ecclesiastes 4:3 dances with it: "Better than both of them is one who has not yet been, who has not seen the evil actions that are done under the sun."
Now, Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on Ecclesiastes, takes that verse and runs with it in some truly fascinating directions. It asks: Who is this "one who has not yet been"?
One answer, surprisingly, involves a whole lot of potential people who didn't make it into existence. According to Rabbi Yoḥanan, quoting Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, these are the 974 generations God considered creating before settling on the world as we know it! The verse "He commanded the matter for one thousand generations" (Psalms 105:8) hints at this, suggesting God had plans for a thousand generations, but ultimately only brought twenty-six into being before giving the Torah. What happened to the other 974? They were, in a sense, "better off" not seeing the evil that would unfold. Heavy stuff.
But the Kohelet Rabbah doesn't stop there. It digs into moments where the past, specifically the merit of past generations, seemed to outweigh the present.
Think about the Golden Calf. When the Israelites went astray, Moses pleaded with God for mercy. Midrash tells us he left no corner of Mount Sinai untouched by his prayers. Yet, he wasn't answered. Five angels of destruction – Anger, Destruction, Annihilation, Wrath, and Fury – descended. Desperate, Moses invoked the patriarchs: "Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel Your servants" (Exodus 32:13).
And here's where it gets really interesting. God, in a stunning moment of vulnerability, essentially says, "What claim do they have on me? I have claims against them too!" He questions Abraham's doubt ("How will I know that I will inherit it?" Genesis 15:8), Isaac's favoritism towards Esau ("Isaac loved Esau," Genesis 25:28), and Jacob's despair ("My way is hidden from the Lord," Isaiah 40:27).
It wasn't until Moses appealed to God's self-oath ("To whom You took an oath by Yourself," Exodus 32:13) that divine mercy was stirred. Three angels departed, leaving only Wrath and Fury. Moses, incredibly, bargains with God, taking on Fury himself while God confronts Wrath. As it says in Psalms 106:23, Moses "stood before Him in the breach to turn back His fury." It was a moment where the merit of the past – the covenant God made – outweighed the present sin. That's when King Solomon proclaims, "I praise the dead…more than the living" (Ecclesiastes 4:2).
The text goes on to illustrate this point further. Solomon himself, when dedicating the Temple, couldn't get fire to descend from heaven until he invoked "the good deeds of David your servant" (II Chronicles 6:42). Only then did the fire come, as we read in II Chronicles 7:1. Some say David even came back to life in that moment! Or, at the very least, his coffin was present, his legacy speaking louder than Solomon's current prayers.
And then there's Ezekiel in the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37). He commands the bones to heed God's word, and they miraculously reassemble. The prophet notes that, unlike the living generation who ignored God, these dead bones finally listened. Again, the past – even in death – held more weight than the present.
So, what’s the takeaway? Is it that being dead is better than being alive? Not exactly. It’s more nuanced than that. It’s about the enduring power of legacy, the weight of past actions, and the idea that even those who came before us – even those who didn't even come to be – can still profoundly shape our present. It is a lesson about the importance of earning a good name in this world, one that will have bargaining power even after one leaves it. It’s a reminder that our choices ripple through time, long after we're gone. And maybe, just maybe, that’s a reason for hope, even in the face of all the evil under the sun.