Clearly, in his search for wisdom Ecclesiastes turned more than once to the tradition reflected in the writings of the ancient sages. It was precisely in them that he found mentions, for example, that the day of death is better than the day of birth (v. 1), that sorrow is better than laughter (vv. 3-4), or of being in the house of the dead (v. 2). The ancient sages also said much about the benefit of patience, the harm of anger (vv. 8-9), the benefit of wisdom (vv. 11-12), and the instruction received from a wise person (vv. 5-6).

But all these unquestionably true and profound aphorisms did not answer the main question: what is the meaning of wisdom if, even after making a person righteous, it does not allow righteousness to triumph over the evil in which the world lies (v. 15)? For with all his wisdom a person cannot straighten what God, in the words of Ecclesiastes, has "made crooked" (v. 13). And if that is so, reality can only be accepted as it is, for it will never change and become either better or worse. If it sometimes seems to someone that "things were better before," that is a mistake (v. 10). And what remains for a person is only to rejoice in the good things that fall to his lot from God, and in days of adversity to give himself to reflection on the reversals of fate and the inconstancy of human happiness (v. 14).

It is no wonder that Ecclesiastes does not expect too much demandingness from the wise person, either toward himself or toward others: for a person is still powerless to change either himself or others; in such a case maximalism can only do harm, and harm above all the one who possesses it (v. 16). In fact, it is not hard to imagine the reaction to excessive demands from people who know in advance that these demands cannot be fulfilled. According to Ecclesiastes, it will be quite enough if a person's wisdom can keep him from a sinful life leading to destruction (v. 17).

This middle path, clearly, seemed optimal to Ecclesiastes (v. 18). He, like many before him, understands perfectly well that human nature is spoiled; a person is born in such a way that it is impossible for him not to sin (v. 20). And therefore Ecclesiastes proposes treating the sins and mistakes of others with tolerance: for one way or another everyone has to sin, and therefore it is not worth drawing excessive attention to another person's sins, otherwise someone will surely be found who, with malicious joy, points out the sins of the accuser himself (vv. 21-22). But, clearly, proclaiming principles proved much easier than following them (v. 23). The source of evil is hidden in the corruption of human nature: God conceived and created the human being, in the words of Ecclesiastes, "straight" ("upright"), inwardly whole and capable of righteousness, while the human being, by his own will, neglecting this gift, chooses his own ways ("devices") (v. 29).

In form these reflections resemble the instructions collected in the Book of Proverbs of Solomon, but the character of the instructions, if taken outside the context, sharply differs from the edifying proverbs that contain advice and recommendations for a prosperous life. Wisdom, so highly valued, is reduced to the remembrance of death and the cessation of all earthly joy, and even wisdom itself proves an unreliable support in a world where oppressing others makes a wise man foolish.

These are rather reflections that might be called the fruits of sober experience, if something did not prevent us from finally accepting the pessimism that pierces the one reflecting. And only the sole conclusion found, that God made man upright, but people have gone after many schemes, helps us look again at everything said before. Then vanity of vanities is not in man's very existence, but in how he lives after falling away from the Creator?

What is Ecclesiastes seeking? God? In essence, yes. But he himself perceives his search differently. He is seeking true reality. One could say: Reality with a capital letter, if such Reality were not associated for us today with what we define for ourselves as "spiritual" or "divine." But what stands for us behind these words? Words, especially words like these, have long been devalued, not only because of dishonest Christians, but also because of quite honest theologians and philosophers, each time convinced that now they have finally found something truly spiritual and genuinely divine.

It appears that in the times when Ecclesiastes lived, the devaluation of words was already a sad reality. Ecclesiastes himself is religious; he knows something about God, but suddenly it has turned out that he does not really know God at all. Or almost not at all. But there are too many words, and Ecclesiastes prefers to avoid words. He does not even speak about reality; he prefers to speak of quite concrete, sufficiently tangible things. But what he is seeking is precisely reality.

And even Reality with a capital letter. But he seeks cautiously, as if feeling all that life consists of, his own life and other people's: what of this is authentic? What is truly real, and what only seems so? Death is more real than life; sorrow is closer to reality than joy and merriment. A strange conclusion, it would seem, but in the fallen world this really is so. If death is final, then life is either absurdity or a malicious joke of God on man.

With a God who can joke this way, one must be careful and circumspect. And wisdom... it would have meaning if it could give life. But it cannot; wisdom can deliver no one either from death or even from the evil in which the world lies. Evil can be minimized; for this one must allow everything that flows to flow freely. Nothing can be changed; one can only merge with the flow of life, not resisting it. An almost Daoist conclusion, but Ecclesiastes is seeking the authentic within this world.

And here only eternal movement is authentic, the flow of life, in which all forms and events dissolve and from which they are then born again; and here it no longer matters whether to call this flow "dao," as the Chinese philosophers did, or "logos," as the Greek philosophers did. Ecclesiastes does not call it anything at all, but he senses it quite clearly. He has found something real in the world, but it does not look as though living has become any easier or more joyful for him.