There is a story told of a magistrate named Corin. For years he judged cases in his city, weighing laws, testimonies, and evidence. Yet in private he confessed a nagging fear: no matter how carefully he ruled, he felt the weight of a greater judgment looming over him. He wondered if his verdicts mattered at all in the end, if justice itself would dissolve into the void. One night, after finishing a particularly bitter dispute, he muttered aloud: What is the end of all this?

“Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter:
Fear God and keep his commandments,
for this is the duty of all mankind.
For God will bring every deed into judgment,
including every hidden thing,
whether it is good or evil.”
(Ecclesiastes 12:13–14, NIV)

After cycles of futility, after reflections on pleasure, toil, wisdom, and mortality, the Teacher lands here: fear God, keep his commandments, for judgment will come. It is a bracing conclusion, cutting against the relativism of despair. The end of the matter is not endless speculation but obedience.

Karl Barth would recognize this as the proper shape of theology: revelation calls, we answer. For Barth, ethics is not the construction of systems but the obedient hearing of God’s command. Qoheleth’s counsel resonates: the human task is not to straighten every crookedness or solve every mystery but to live responsively under God’s authority.

Kierkegaard deepens this with his meditation on faith. In Fear and Trembling, he describes Abraham’s willingness to obey God even when it defied all human calculation. Faith, for Kierkegaard, is not rational certainty but trustful obedience that leaps into God’s command. Ecclesiastes points in the same direction: wisdom cannot resolve the contradictions of life, but obedience reframes them. To fear God is not terror but awe-filled trust; to keep his commandments is to live by faith rather than by illusion.

Emmanuel Levinas adds another dimension. For him, responsibility is not abstract law but the encounter with the Infinite in the face of the Other. Every hidden deed, every unnoticed kindness or cruelty, matters before the gaze of God. “Judgment” is not merely a final courtroom but the continual summons of conscience. Ecclesiastes insists that nothing is hidden, that even what we conceal from others will be brought to light. Levinas would say this is because the Infinite already lays claim to us.

Camus would bristle here. For him, the human condition is absurd precisely because there is no final judgment, no transcendent resolution. To live authentically is to rebel against despair, to create meaning without guarantees. Yet even Camus, in his honesty, underscores the weight of Ecclesiastes’ conclusion. If there is no God, then indeed all is absurd. If there is God, then all is summoned to account. The Teacher chooses the latter: not resignation, but fear of God.

Bonhoeffer, writing under tyranny, reminds us that commandments are not abstract codes but living responses to God’s will in concrete situations. “Duty” here is not blind rule-following but a life oriented to God’s call. To fear God and keep his commandments is to resist idols, of power, wealth, ideology, and to submit one’s life to the One who judges in truth.

For modern readers, judgment is often an unwelcome word. We prefer autonomy, authenticity, self-expression. Yet Qoheleth will not let us escape accountability. Every deed, even the hidden, is weighed. In a world where injustice often goes unanswered, this is both terrifying and hopeful. Terrifying, because it means nothing is forgotten. Hopeful, because it means nothing is ignored. The sweat of the laborer, the cry of the oppressed, the hidden act of mercy, all will be brought to light.

The final lesson for this series is this: the end of wisdom is not mastery but obedience. Fear God, not as cowering before a tyrant, but as reverent recognition that you are not your own measure. Keep his commandments, not as empty ritual, but as concrete faithfulness in daily life. Live knowing that every hidden thing matters. This is both burden and gift: burden, because it calls you to responsibility; gift, because it affirms that your life is not futile, your actions are not swallowed by the void.

Corin, the magistrate, never resolved every case to his satisfaction. The laws were imperfect, the evidence murky, the outcomes mixed. But he learned that the true Judge is not himself. His duty was to act faithfully, to fear God and keep His commandments, leaving the final verdict to the One who sees all.

And perhaps that is the wisdom of Ecclesiastes’ closing words. After all the searching, after all the futility, the end of the matter is simple but not easy: fear God, keep His commandments. It is not escape from paradox but orientation within it. It is not mastery of life but faithfulness under God. All else is chasing the wind.