NOTES for Ecc 1:2-11

The words of Ecclesiastes that we read today seem gloomy to many. “Vanity of vanities, says Ecclesiastes, vanity of vanities—all is vanity! What does a person gain from all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” What do these words mean for us, and why does the Church invite us to reflect on this text today? Are we called to abandon everything we do because a person gains nothing from all his toil? Or, since it is obvious that the Lord never called us to idleness, can we simply ignore these words and put them down to the pessimism of Ecclesiastes? Or... is the Lord nevertheless telling us something?

He calls us to stop and think. To think about what is important in life and what is secondary, about how much strength is spent in vain and how little attention and energy are given to things that truly matter. To reflect... and to change something in our life.

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.

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.

In many respects, the book of Ecclesiastes is a unique phenomenon within Holy Scripture, differing markedly from all its other books both in content and in the author's way of thinking. Ecclesiastes crowns an important strand in the development of Old Testament religious life, associated with the concept of wisdom (khokhma). To a certain extent it may be regarded as one of the concluding books of the Old Testament, which, alongside the prophetic writings, anticipated the era of the Savior's coming.

In terms of genre, Ecclesiastes may be called a philosophical reflection, and in this it differs radically not only from the historical and prophetic books but also from the teaching books of the Old Testament. The book's authorship and date cannot be established precisely. Its heading reads “The words of Ecclesiastes, the son of David, king in Jerusalem”; this heading plainly refers to King Solomon, renowned for his wisdom. Most scholars agree that the heading of Ecclesiastes is an example of the pseudepigraphic attribution typical of ancient literature. The book's author attributes it to King Solomon as the archetype of all Israel's sages, the wisest of the wise. Most biblical scholars suggest that the book was probably written around the turn of the fourth to the third century BC. The spiritual atmosphere of that era was marked by growing religious indifference; the values of monotheism were gradually being forgotten, and the call to the chosen people to dedicate their whole lives to God was being heard ever more faintly. The prophetic writings, which proclaimed imminent deliverance and the coming of the Messiah, were no longer taken seriously. The prophets' mystical experience was gradually being forgotten, and Israel's faith was perceived chiefly as a law regulating the organization of life in this world. According to the views of the time, people's relationship with God was reduced to the regular offering of sacrifices and extended no further; in the eyes of the Jews, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob had come in many ways to resemble the pagan deities of the surrounding peoples. This era saw the emergence of a drive toward formal observance of the law, so characteristic of the Pharisees during the earthly life of the Lord Jesus Christ, and also of Judaism after the New Testament period.

The content of Ecclesiastes amounts to a rational investigation of the meaning and value of everything that makes up human life. With a systematic approach unusual in biblical literature, the author—whom we shall call Ecclesiastes—examines the visible world and human life within it. Ecclesiastes himself formulates his task as follows: “And I set my heart to seek and search out by wisdom all that is done under heaven: this hard occupation God has given to the children of men to occupy themselves with.” Ecclesiastes maintains that such a rational investigation is not the whim of an idle mind, but arduous work entrusted to humanity by the Creator Himself. That, at least, is how the meaning of this sentence may be understood in the Russian Synodal translation, which here follows the Septuagint.

Ecclesiastes places the overall result of his investigation at the very beginning of the book, so as to confirm his conclusion afterward by examining specific examples. Everything that meets his gaze he calls vanity: “Vanity of vanities, said Ecclesiastes, vanity of vanities—all is vanity!” The meaning of the word havel, translated in the Septuagint as mataiotes, futility, and in the Slavonic and Russian Bibles as “vanity,” might be better conveyed as “nothing” or “emptiness,” “empty futility.” This word is used in the Bible to mean a breath of wind, “a light vapor dissolving in the air.” It refers to something that vanishes without a trace and has neither meaning nor value. Vanity or futility—movement that serves no purpose, has no aim or stability, and passes without consequence—is how Ecclesiastes judges everything that happens in the visible world. Expanding on this idea in his introduction, he emphasizes that nothing changes in the world: “There is something of which people say, ‘Look, this is new’; but it already existed in the ages before us. There is no remembrance of what came before; nor will there be remembrance of what is to come among those who come afterward.” Every natural phenomenon, as well as every human deed, seems futile to him: “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit!” The last words may also be translated as “chasing after the wind,” the most senseless of all imaginable occupations. Taken as a whole, the characteristic expressions “vanity and chasing after the wind,” repeated many times in his book, correspond in modern language to the word “nonsense” and to still harsher slang expressions.

But Ecclesiastes does not stop there: he judges even his own investigation to be “chasing after the wind.” This conclusion brings sorrow and grief to his heart (1:18). Thus the book of Ecclesiastes itself strikes the reader as a mournful manifesto of ancient skepticism. Here, however, it is important to notice the assumptions behind Ecclesiastes' words: before thinking about what he fails to find, we must understand what he is looking for. Reflecting on his fruitless search for meaning, Ecclesiastes assumes that meaning must exist. That is precisely why the absence of meaning, the futility of everything that exists in the world, plunges him into sorrow and grief. He expects to find at least something of significance, but the visible world offers him nothing of the kind. It is also significant that this assumed and sought-for meaningfulness is intimately connected with the joy and gladness of the human heart, as well as with the experience of solidity in existence.

The anguish that overwhelms both Ecclesiastes and his reader at the sight of the futility of everything in the world signals an infinite emptiness in the human heart; it is spiritual in nature and can be filled only by God. Nothing else can fill it; nothing has meaning or significance. Even religious experience and all the efforts of a devout person change nothing here. Even observance of the law and the path of righteousness, which Ecclesiastes, following the usage of his time and circle, calls wisdom, do not bring the joy and solidity he seeks, for all their fruits are swallowed up by death.

Another characteristic and important assumption underlying the book of Ecclesiastes is its personalism, something uncharacteristic of Old Testament literature as a whole. Only the later teaching books, traditionally called the literature of Israel's sages, consider the world and life from the individual's perspective, at the cost of distancing themselves from the mystical experience of earlier eras.

These positions of Ecclesiastes appear especially vivid and profound against the religious indifference of the age. Ecclesiastes refuses to be content with temporary good (tov); his heart aspires to something greater. He longs to find meaning in eternal happiness that lies beyond human reach (ithron). Nothing in the experience of Old Testament life summed up by his book corresponds to this supreme, ultimate happiness that Ecclesiastes does not find. Only one concept in the Bible can be compared with the highest happiness he seeks, and that is the Gospel's makariotes, blessedness.

Strictly speaking, it is impossible to determine whether Ecclesiastes held these positions from the outset as given premises, or whether they developed as the fruit of his spiritual experience and wisdom. In the latter case, the author's central thought may be summarized as follows: “Human life must have meaning, joy and goodness; human life must have an eternal dimension; without this, it is impossible to live—but nowhere in the world have I found it.” The following chapters of the book are intended to confirm this.

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).