What remains for a person in a life where meaning cannot be obtained and God's providence cannot be found? As it appears, all that remains is simply to live, to live as though this meaning exists and God's providence still somehow, by ways unknown to human beings, acts in the world while remaining hidden from people. No one knows his fate, nor does he know how circumstances will unfold or how affairs will go, but this is not a reason for a passive stance in life (vv. 3-5). It is impossible to foresee everything, but it is important to do everything possible so that the task set before one may be accomplished (vv. 1-2).

The wisdom of life to which Ecclesiastes came turned out, in essence, to be quite simple and understandable: you do not know the will of God or the ways of providence, so do everything to achieve success and leave the rest to God (v. 6). Such a worldview bears little resemblance to the fiery faith of the prophets or the confident calm of the sages, but this is not surprising: we are speaking of the worldview of a person who understands that the world cannot be changed, and that righteousness and wisdom are valued in it too little for anyone to hope for their triumph. Nothing can be guaranteed, but it is important to do everything possible. And of course one must never miss an occasion to rejoice when God gives a person such an opportunity: after all, joyful days in life are far fewer than sorrowful ones, so it would be a pity to miss even one of those joyful days (vv. 7-8).

Of course, joy must not be such that the person rejoicing forgets God, but as it appears, for Ecclesiastes the fear of God, remembrance of judgment, and joy are compatible things (vv. 9-10), perhaps because the joy he speaks of is inseparable from the joy a person experiences in God's presence.

The advice contained in Ecclesiastes' reflections, at first seeming gathered chaotically and unsystematically, unexpectedly proves united by the motif of consequences and responsibility even for the distant results of actions. Still, different people can draw different conclusions from the same fact; before the same reality, one can behave in different ways. Therefore the advice given to the young man, walk in the ways of your heart, can be understood both as a warning about the negative consequences of possible behavior and as recognition of the young man's right to freedom of action. Prohibitions do not always work; youth usually does not take prohibitions or the useful advice of elders into account, especially since advice does not always stand on care, but often hides a desire to suppress and rule. But there is no lust for power in Ecclesiastes' words; he looks at things soberly and tries to pass sobriety on to others.

Even recognition of the fact that the consequences of our actions cannot always be predicted in advance must not become a pretext for shirking labor. No, everyday labor must be continued precisely for this reason. The ancient principle "do what must be done, and let come what may" takes on a special sound, for the deeds spoken of here are done before the eyes of God.

Once Ecclesiastes noticed the eternal cycle of creation, which seemed to him a sacred dance of creation before the face of its Creator. And it was precisely this dance that helped Ecclesiastes find himself at that boundary of silence where God's eternity meets the world of spaces and times. And now it turns out that a person too can become part of the cosmic dance. And not in mystical ecstasy, but in everyday life. Outwardly it may seem that the issue is merely everyday routine, in which some tasks replace others just as steadily and monotonously as day replaces night. But everyday routine never brings joy to anyone.

Ecclesiastes connects that joy which can fill a person's life precisely with everyday life, if of course that person is not too concerned about tomorrow and does not begin to oppose the natural course of things. The natural course of things in general becomes for Ecclesiastes something sacred, something like the dao of the Chinese philosophers or the logos of the Greek philosophers. This is not surprising: behind movement, both they and Ecclesiastes himself sensed the rest behind which is God's presence. Only neither the Chinese nor the Greeks extended this movement to ordinary life.

The Chinese sought this moving rest in nature, the Greeks in nature and in the human soul, but Ecclesiastes was able to find it in everyday life too. Earthly wisdom turned out not to be so earthly after all; God's eternity suddenly began to show through it clearly. Yet the main, final, ultimate question still remained unanswered: what will happen when the dance stops? When it ceases?

If not completely, not finally, not forever, then at least for the specific person taking part in it? For sooner or later the day comes for everyone when his dance ends and he leaves the great cosmic round dance. And what then? There is no answer. And Ecclesiastes is cautious: this is the very main question that must be answered absolutely, simply because otherwise all the other answers are worthless. But where is it, the main answer?