When reading Ecclesiastes, the great teachings of the East involuntarily come to mind. "All is vanity" sounds very Buddhist. But reality is what it is, and at that point it no longer matters who managed to notice something characteristic and typical of it. A world in which God's presence is not visible is indeed nothing more than vanity. And Ecclesiastes sees the world exactly this way. No, of course Ecclesiastes is not an atheist. He is not even an agnostic. But this is not about theory, or even about a worldview.

It is about the sense of God's presence. A sense that is always very concrete. It can make the world eternally new, because the world truly exists only as an active manifestation of God's will. As the embodiment of that will. As the dynamic movement of a reality that is constantly being renewed. Outside this dynamic, however, the world is not eternally new but eternally old. And we, accustomed to a world from which God is not visible, usually see exactly that kind of eternity. So Ecclesiastes looked at the world through our eyes. And he saw that there is nothing new under the sun. But if that is so, then everything is indeed vanity. "Vanity of vanities" - that is, the same vanity, but in all its fullness. Or, more precisely, in what in this case takes the place of fullness.

For vanity is movement around emptiness. And what, then, should be considered fullness? Perhaps an infinitely rapid and never-ceasing movement around emptiness. Studying it is truly exhausting work. But "the sons of men" practice it with all diligence, for in their fallen state nothing else remains for them. At least until the Meeting takes place. But one still has to come to it. And Ecclesiastes begins his path.

A path which, as he warns in advance, will lead to sad conclusions. But it must still be traveled so that life may receive at least some meaning. Even if it is a negative meaning. For a negative meaning is still meaning. But meaninglessness is only emptiness. "Vanity of vanities." Therefore consent to the meaninglessness of life is spiritually equivalent to suicide. Ecclesiastes does not want suicide. He is ready to seek meaning.

Reading the Book of Ecclesiastes, it is hard not to notice its somewhat pessimistic tone. Its main theme is the complete meaninglessness of all human effort in a world where nothing changes and nothing can change. Indeed, if, as the author of the book says, generations come and go while the earth remains unchanged (vv. 2-4), what can a person do? In this respect the Book of Ecclesiastes presents a striking contrast both to the prophetic tradition, with its orientation toward the messianic Kingdom, and to traditional wisdom literature, where, as for example in the Book of Proverbs, the value of wisdom and of human efforts aimed at acquiring wisdom and ordering life is not called into question.

At first glance, the worldview of the author of Ecclesiastes is more reminiscent of something pagan. Similar motifs are not hard to find, for example, among the Greek and Roman Stoics, who, like most representatives of other pagan philosophical schools, also considered the world unchanging and all human attempts to change it futile (vv. 9-11).

Of course, this could easily be explained by the influence of the age in which the author of the book lived. In the opinion of most biblical scholars, its author was a person who lived in the fifth or fourth century BC, when the influence of Greek philosophy and Greek culture on the Jewish community and on the Synagogue was already quite strong. But the point is not only pagan influences. By that time, after the reform carried out by Ezra in the middle of the fifth century BC was already in the past, the life of the Synagogue and the religious order of Jewish society, both in Judea itself and in the diaspora, had become quite settled, and religious life moved more or less steadily along a familiar track.

On the other hand, the intense messianic expectations characteristic of the first generations of returnees from the Babylonian exile were already in the past. The messianic perspective had receded into an indefinite future, and outside its context there was no basis for speaking of any fundamental changes in the life of the world in general or of Jewish society in particular. Of course, no one formally renounced faith in the coming of the Messiah and the arrival of the messianic Kingdom, but this faith had little influence on the everyday life of the Synagogue. In addition, judging both by the character of the Book of Ecclesiastes and by its author's own testimony, he did not belong among the learned rabbis or teachers of the Torah. His reflections resemble not a rabbi's instruction but the speech of a philosopher who knew as much about the Torah as any believing Jew of that age knew. Ecclesiastes says of himself that he was a ruler, a "king," of Israel (v. 12), and in the inscription of the book he is called "son of David" (v. 1). Apparently, all this became the basis for identifying the author of the book with Solomon, and that identification became fixed in tradition.

Meanwhile, in Hebrew usage "son" can simply mean "descendant," so there are no direct grounds for considering Solomon himself the author of the book. It may have been a person who held the second most important office in Judea in the fifth or fourth century BC, an office that in the Hellenistic era received the Greek name "ethnarch," that is, "ruler of the people." After the Babylonian exile, Judea was a national Jewish autonomy that was part first of Persia, then of the Hellenistic states of Egypt and Syria, and still later of the Roman Empire. The autonomy was headed by the high priest, while the ethnarch was the second most important person, a secular ruler who under the high priest essentially performed the duties of a prime minister. Such people were not often inclined toward philosophy, but if they nevertheless decided to "search out everything that is done under heaven" (vv. 13-14) or "to know wisdom and to know madness and folly" (vv. 16-17), they certainly had every opportunity for such an inquiry. And life experience almost always led them, knowing life from the inside, to the same conclusion Ecclesiastes voices: everything is "vanity and a striving after wind" (v. 14), and the one who increases knowledge increases sorrow (v. 18).

Like wave after wave, repeated reflections roll in about everything in the world being vanity and therefore meaningless; about everything in the world repeating itself, nothing being new and nothing being able to be new, and even the advantages of wisdom over foolishness proving insignificant... Such reflections are mesmerizing both in content and in rhythm; they become obsessive, and now it is impossible to oppose anything to them.

But then why are these thoughts here, why are they included in the Book that from its first lines to its last speaks of everything in the world being not accidental and not meaningless? Is there not a contradiction between the Book of Books and the character of one of the books that, for unclear reasons, was included in it?

This thought may arise, especially if one constantly repeats the words about vanity of vanities, tearing them out of context. But we will not limit ourselves to quoting fragments; we will continue reading, relating individual phrases to the whole content of the book.