The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
The book opens by naming its speaker three ways: preacher, son of David, and king in Jerusalem. Each title shapes how the rest of the book is read, and together they explain why his verdict on life carries such weight.
The verse gives no personal name. Even so, commentators say the description fits one man only.
If the Preacher or Convener had not described himself as son of David, king in Jerusalem, who else could have written it but Solomon? He tells us too that he was "king over Israel in Jerusalem." Who could this possibly be but Solomon? Even his own son soon stopped being king over Israel. He lost ten of the twelve tribes and became king over Judah rather than Israel. There is no real reason to imagine an unknown writer posing as Solomon; that idea is foreign to Scripture, though it seems reasonable to worldly men who are used to fiction. Here everything is intense and solemn reality.
The English word stands in for a Hebrew title. Commentators differ over how to translate it, and some think "preacher" misses the mark.
The Hebrew word Koheleth can hardly mean preacher. It comes from the verb "kahal," which means "to gather" or "assemble." Translators have rendered "kahal" as "congregation," and the Septuagint, the early Greek version of the Old Testament, renders it "ecclesia." Koheleth is feminine, clearly a word provided for this purpose. Some suggest it was shaped to match "wisdom" in Proverbs, which is also feminine. Perhaps the word "debater" comes nearest to the meaning of the original.
If the title is about gathering, then the book has a particular crowd in view. It is not aimed at the future, but at people busy with the present.
Here he takes a title found nowhere else outside this book — Preacher. He would gather around him those who wanted to hear, and teach them; that is what the term means. Other parts of Scripture deal with the future and with the path of the righteous on earth. This book speaks to everyone whose heart is in the world, busy with the occupations of life, and tells them what they really are. The king's son discovered this by his own experience, and he recorded it under inspiration to instruct all who will listen to him.
Solomon's advantages are the point. A verdict on life sounds different from a man who had everything and still found it empty.
What is discussed here is not guilt, as in Psalm 32 and Psalm 51, but the unhappiness of a man whose heart never rises above created things. The largest means, the highest ability, the most exalted rank, the most active mind, the most refined taste — yes, and wisdom above all other men — only sharpen the dissatisfaction and the misery. Solomon was the man to feel it when he turned away from God, and the man to give us the profit of it, when grace led him to look back over it all and pass it on as a lasting warning.
The book looks only at what a man can see from ground level. That limit even shapes which name of God appears in it.
There is, of course, something above the sun: heaven, the heavenly things. Ecclesiastes deals with earthly things, with what man does apart from God — that is, the natural man. The book describes the things under the sun. It shows that all a man does — his pursuits, his labors, whatever he undertakes and everything tied to it — is nothing but vanity and frustration of spirit, never satisfying, and full of sorrow and confusion. This is why the name Jehovah, God's name when He enters into covenant with man, is left out, and God is named only as Elohim, His name as Creator. Ecclesiastes is in the Holy Scriptures for one purpose: to show the natural man how hollow and empty everything under the sun is, and so to persuade him to seek and find what is better, what is above the sun.
Another writer describes the same restriction more briefly: the sun marks the edge of what this king can see, and everything inside that circle is called empty.
The boundary of Solomon's horizon is the sun, beneath it all is pronounced "Vanity." Read the book, and you will say that it was evidently written by Solomon at the close of his reign, in the evening of his life.
The book does not stop at despair. Its last word replaces the search for profit with something simpler.
It is true, thank God, that Ecclesiastes does not leave things here. God has spoken, and faith sees more sharply than any human wisdom. Even so, for faith too the world as such is gone. To do God's will in it, "this is the whole of man."
- Words — The book is "the words of the Preacher": one man's experience, recorded under inspiration for everyone who will listen.
- Preacher — The title comes from a Hebrew word meaning "to gather." Commentators differ over "preacher" or "debater," but the sense is calling people together to hear.
- Son of David — The description fits Solomon alone, since no later ruler was king over all Israel in Jerusalem.
- King in Jerusalem — No one had more wealth, rank or wisdom, so his verdict is hard to answer. The more a man can enjoy, the sharper his disappointment.
- Under the sun — The book looks no higher than the earth, and names God only as Creator, never in covenant. Yet it does not end in profit; it ends in doing God's will.
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities! all is vanity.
Ecclesiastes opens with a verdict, and the verdict covers everything. The man who gives it had every resource a person could want — so if he found nothing worth keeping, where can anyone else look?
The verdict would carry little weight from a man life had treated badly. So it matters who is speaking, and what his title means.
If a disappointed man said this — one whose hopes life had crushed, one the road had treated roughly — no one could wonder at such an opening. But these are the words of the most prosperous, humanly speaking, of men the world has ever witnessed. And his verdict is not about some things, but about all. And here he takes a title not found elsewhere outside this book — Preacher. He would gather those around him who wanted to hear, and teach them, for that is the meaning of the term. Other parts of Scripture deal with the future and with the path of the righteous on earth. This book speaks to everyone whose heart is in the world, busy with the business of life, and tells them what these things really are.
One Hebrew word carries the whole book. Adam and Eve once used it to name a son.
The word "vanity" appears no fewer than 37 times in this book! It is the Hebrew word "hevel," which is also found in the name Adam and Eve gave to their second son Abel (Gen. 4:2) after sin had entered the world through their disobedience.
Another writer describes the thing itself as "a mere breath, a vapour passing over the earth, short-lived in its existence."
Other parts of Scripture deal with guilt and forgiveness. This book takes up a different trouble, and adds a strange twist: more advantages make the ache worse.
This book does not discuss guilt, as Psalm 32 and Psalm 51 do. It discusses the unhappiness of a man whose heart never rises above created things. The fullest means, the highest ability, the highest rank, the most active mind, the finest taste — yes, and wisdom beyond all other men — only make the dissatisfaction and the misery sharper... It is the fruit of the fall and of sin: what else could it be? "Vanity of vanities," and not here and there only, but "All is vanity" — the whole of it passing away, and most of all man without God. It is not true of the faith that looks above the sun to the resources of grace, and lives in the fear that keeps His commandments.
The weight of this verdict rests on who ran the test.
Man's wisdom is not the only thing proved at fault. The world itself goes on trial, and "vanity" is what stands written over it all... The trial is made by one with all the resources of a kingdom such as Solomon's. Men of the world need plenty of material to build the happiness they seek. On that score, "what can the man do who comes after the king?" He also has the wisdom to use these resources, and a heart set on doing it. If the result is failure after all, who then shall succeed?
The Preacher weighs everything by one measure: what he can see. That shapes how to read his conclusions.
The whole book of Ecclesiastes speaks from the standpoint of earthly wisdom. In it we see the struggles of a mind looking closely at life, without the aid of revelation. He says many wise things, many true things, but it all comes from the standpoint of sight, from earth.
The Preacher searches everywhere under the sun. One direction stayed closed to him.
But is there something else which satisfies? Is there a higher wisdom and knowledge? There is, but this book — the book of the natural man — does not reveal it. What satisfies, what is not vanity and frustration of spirit, is above the sun, not under it. From above the sun He came, who is the wisdom of God, the Son of God... That which alone can satisfy is Christ.
- Vapour. "Vanity" is the Hebrew word for a breath that passes. Adam and Eve gave that word to Abel as his name, after sin entered the world.
- Verdict. The trouble here is not guilt but emptiness. It is the unhappiness of a heart that never rises above created things.
- Verified. The richest and wisest of men ran the test, so no one can claim a better shot at it — "who then shall succeed?"
- Vantage point. The Preacher reasons by sight alone, without revelation. So the book records true observations, not final answers.
- Above. What is under the sun is vapour; the satisfaction the Preacher could not find came from above the sun, in Christ.
What profit hath man of all his labour wherewith he laboureth under the sun?
The book opens with a verdict: everything under the sun is vanity. Then comes a question for every hard-working person alive. After a lifetime of toil, what is left over? Commentators say the question needs no answer, and the rest of the book shows why.
Solomon is not describing a lazy man. He picks the busiest, happiest worker he can find, then sets one fact beside him.
He takes up the busy, hard-working man, toiling away — the man who finds plenty to do, is happy doing it, and is taken up with the business of life. But why does the Preacher cry out like this? Why is his view of things so sad? The secret comes out. "A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever." The earth remains; man does not. So the question needs no answer.
The phrase is the key to the whole book. It marks off the ground the search may cover.
The second phrase we notice is "under the sun." It appears twenty-nine times in this book. What is "under the sun" is on the earth. There is, of course, something above the sun: heaven, the heavenly things... In all his searching into the things under the sun, the writer does not depend on divine revelation, on what is above the sun. He reaches his results by the light that nature gives. His resources are within himself. The phrase "I communed with my own heart," which occurs seven times in this book, confirms this. So Ecclesiastes is the book of the natural man apart from divine revelation. That is why the name Jehovah never appears — the name God takes as He enters into covenant relation with man. The book names God only as Elohim, His name as Creator.
Within those limits, one fact cancels every gain. This book looks at death from an unusual angle:
Death is the wages of sin, but Ecclesiastes does not look at it that way. Solomon does not dwell on how death entered the world. He dwells on its presence here, as a worm at the root of the tree of pleasure. It spoils pleasure and chills enjoyment. It cuts a man off just as he would sit down, after years of toil, to reap the fruit of his labour... To man, feeling the results of the fall, death is the great spoiler that blasts all his hopes. What happens after death is another matter; other Scriptures set that out. This book looks at death from this side of the grave.
This is not a poet's mood. It is the report of an experiment, run by the one man with the means to run it.
Thank God, before Solomon ended his career his eyes were opened. God led him to write this striking book, and in it he records the results of the experiment. He was not inspired in doing what he did, but he was inspired to record the result. Listen to what he says: I have investigated on a grand scale, on a scale that others can never touch. Others might have one per cent of it. I have had the whole hundred per cent. And the verdict is, there is no profit in it at all. There is no profit under the sun.
This verse opens a different wound from guilt. The more a person has, the deeper it goes.
What is discussed here is not guilt, as in Psalm 32 and Psalm 51, but the unhappiness of a man whose heart never rises above created things. The fullest means, the highest ability, the most exalted rank, the most active mind, the most cultivated taste — yes, and wisdom above all men — only make the dissatisfaction and the misery sharper. Solomon was the man both to feel it when he turned away from God, and to give us the profit of it, when grace led him to review it all and pass it on as a lasting warning.
If nothing under the sun pays, the answer lies outside that circle. Direction matters more than scale.
Happy, serious, simple lesson! The highest achievements or the richest prosperity in things under the sun are all vanity. But the smallest service to the Lord — even giving a cup of cold water in His name — has the value of eternity in it.
And the gain is not only future. Bring God in, and the calculation changes:
But what of God? If God is to be in control, and if I am to live my life under His eye, then that changes the whole matter. Now godliness is great gain — this awareness of God, this living under the eye of God, this having God as the trust and the glory of our hearts, with the contentment that flows from it.
- Question — The verse asks what a lifetime of work leaves behind. It needs no answer. The earth stays; the worker does not.
- Limit — "Under the sun" keeps the search on earth. The natural man works by his own resources, apart from God's revelation, so the covenant name Jehovah never appears in the book.
- Spoiler — Here death is not the wages of sin but the worm at the root. It cuts a man off just as he sits down to enjoy what he earned.
- Verdict — Solomon ran the experiment at a scale no one else can reach. God then inspired him to record the result: no profit under the sun.
- Profit — Real gain lies above the sun. Godliness with contentment is great gain now, and a cup of cold water given in His name carries the value of eternity.
[One] generation passeth away, and [another] generation cometh, but the earth standeth for ever.
Solomon points to something anyone can see. People come and go, while the ground under their feet stays. Why record that plain fact as a complaint? And does an earth that lasts give a man anything at all?
This verse starts the evidence for the book's opening claim. One commentator maps the structure:
Four pictures from nature follow the thesis (verses 4-7), and just as many from the moral side (verses 8-11).
The book's subject is not the same as in Psalm 32 and Psalm 51:
This book does not discuss guilt, as Psalm 32 and Psalm 51 do. It deals with the unhappiness of a man whose heart never rises above created things. The fullest means, the highest ability, the highest rank, the most active mind, the finest taste — yes, and wisdom above all men — only make the dissatisfaction and the misery sharper. Solomon lived through it when he turned away from God. Grace later let him review it all and pass the profit of it on to us, as a warning that lasts forever.
The verse before asked what a man gains from all his work. This verse gives the reason the question needs no answer:
He takes up the busy, hard-working man. This man finds plenty to do, is happy doing it, and is caught up in the business of life. But why this cry from the Preacher, who "sought to find words of delight"? And why does he look at things so sadly? The secret comes out. "A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever." The earth stays; man does not. So the question needs no answer: "What profit?"
Ecclesiastes has its own angle on death:
Death is the wages of sin, but it is not viewed in this aspect in Ecclesiastes. Solomon does not dwell on how death entered the world. He dwells on its presence here, like a worm at the root of the tree of pleasure… What takes place after death is another matter; other scriptures set that forth. This book looks at death from this side of the grave. It shows how death separates a man from the fruits of all his work, just when he thinks he is about to reap them.
The sting is sharper because man is not merely part of the scenery. He outranks the soil, and still it outlasts him:
There is all the difference between the lifeless earth and what has life upon the earth or in it. But what a gap between a creature that feels and one that only grows! The gap is greater still between what has only natural life and the human body into which the LORD God breathed the breath of life. By that breath man, and man alone, became a living soul. As this very book puts it, "the spirit of man goes upward and the spirit of the beast goes down into the earth" (Ecclesiastes 3:21). Yet "a generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever." What is there here to meet the void of man's heart?
Nature repeats itself, and the repeating teaches the same lesson as the passing generations:
The work begun is never perfected. Things in heaven and things on earth proclaim this… Each day the work is done, only to be repeated the next. Each year retraces the course it has already run… So nature would teach him, if he looked at it properly, that no one can find lasting rest here yet.
One writer shows both the limit of this endless round and the way past it:
The generations pass, and they do not return. If they do return, experience knows nothing about it. So the bat's wing of death throws its dark and sinister shadow over everything. What lies beyond? "Who knows?" Here only God, who is light, can give light. Revelation is our one source of certainty. Then, indeed, the wheel still turns; but the wheel of fate becomes the chariot-wheel of God, as in Ezekiel.
One writer looks on to the earth's final and eternal state, where these words come true:
"You have established the earth, and it stands fast" (Psalm 119:90); "but the earth remains forever" (Ecclesiastes 1:4). In that state these divine statements are fulfilled. Many Christians have a very vague idea of the eternal state of the earth and the home of the redeemed. They think of it as a spiritual state with no location. But it is not so. The earth and the heaven abide as definite places throughout all eternity.
- Thesis. The verse is the first of four pictures from nature that back up Solomon's question about profit.
- Contrast. The earth stays, man goes — and that single comparison is why the question needs no answer.
- Death. Here death is not traced to its cause. It is felt as the thing that cuts a man off from the fruit he was about to enjoy.
- Void. Man ranks far above the ground he walks on, yet the endless round of generations leaves his heart empty.
- Light. Left to itself the wheel just turns. Revelation alone makes the wheel of fate the chariot-wheel of God.
The sun also riseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to its place where it ariseth.
The sun's daily round is one of several pictures Ecclesiastes takes from nature. The question is not whether the world runs in good order. It does. The question is whether all that faithful motion ever gets anywhere, or gives a man anything worth having.
This verse belongs to a run of pictures in verses 4–11. They all make one observation about how the world moves.
Verses 4–11 sound the first note about vanity. There is a law of repetition, or circle-movement. It works in nature as well as in human life. Generation follows generation. The sun has his circle. The winds too have their currents, and they blow from north to south and south to north. The waters are under the same law. History repeats itself... There is then nothing new under the sun. Nothing is new. All is repetition, a dull sameness that never changes. Man is in the middle of it, and he too is under this law.
The sun works all day. Each evening it ends where it started. One writer hears in that what all creation says about human labour.
Death robs a man of enjoying the fruits of his work. And his life and everything around him speaks of endless, repeated labour too. The work begun is never finished. Things in heaven and things on earth proclaim this… Each day the work is done, only to be done again the next day. Each year the sun travels once more the course it has already travelled.
One writer points the reader to the object that rules the sky. What does it do for the man standing under it?
Let him look up then at the sun. It is the brightest object a man can see, and to his senses it gives light and heat above all else. Without it, what would the earth be, and all who live on it, and most of all man? What profit, or happiness, does he get from it, as he looks up from under it?… Its movement in relation to the earth is clearly orderly and never fails. But does that touch a man's sense that everything in him and around him is passing away? Or does it only make that sense worse?
The sun of this verse gives the book its most repeated phrase. It marks the limit of what Ecclesiastes looks at.
This expression comes twenty-nine times in this book. What is "under the sun" is on the earth. And there is, of course, something above the sun: heaven, the heavenly things. Ecclesiastes then deals with earthly things, with what man does apart from God — that is, the natural man. The writer makes his method clear. In all his searching and describing of the things under the sun, he does not depend on divine revelation, on what is above the sun. He reaches his results by the light nature gives. His resources are within himself… Ecclesiastes is in the Bible for one purpose: to show the natural man the hollowness and vanity of everything under the sun, and to convince him by that to seek and find what is better, what is above the sun.
The sun's unbroken round is not only wearying repetition. Another writer points to the same motion as evidence — evidence no man can tamper with.
Creation in all its parts declares the eternal power and divinity of God. And it is highly significant that the inspired writer of Psalm 19 speaks of parts of creation which man has no power to touch or corrupt. He speaks of the unceasing procession of day and night, and of the perpetual circuit of the sun. In God's estimate, this witness to His power and divinity is so powerful and convincing that it leaves men without excuse.
Observation alone cannot tell you where the turning wheel of days and generations is heading.
So "for everything there is a season" — and only a season. But the generations pass and do not return… Beyond that, who knows? Here God, who is light, can alone give light; and revelation is our one source of certainty. Then, indeed, the wheel still turns; but the wheel of destiny becomes the chariot-wheel of God.
That has a practical shape. One writer compares Ecclesiastes with what the apostle teaches about escape from condemnation.
In it I see one way, but one only, open to us as an escape from the condition and from the sense of a universal vanity. We are "shut up" to it… Faith in Jesus, says the apostle, is the one and only way out of a state of condemnation. Living to Jesus, says the Book of Ecclesiastes, is the one and only way out of a state of vanity.
- Circle. The sun's rising and setting is one of four pictures of a law of repetition. It rules nature, history, and man himself.
- Labour. The circle is busy but never finished. Each day's work is done only to be done again the next day. Nature itself says you will find no lasting rest here.
- Limit. "Under the sun" names the viewpoint: earth without revelation, a man reasoning from his own resources.
- Light. The very same circuit, seen from above the sun, is a witness to God's power that men cannot corrupt or excuse away.
- Outlet. Revelation turns the wheel of destiny into the chariot-wheel of God. Living to Jesus is the one way out of a life of vanity.
The wind goeth towards the south, and turneth about towards the north it turneth about continually, and the wind returneth again to its circuits.
Ecclesiastes 1:6 is the third of four pictures drawn from nature. The wind swings south, then north, then circles back — so is there anything here for a restless heart to rest on?
The book does not argue its opening claim. It illustrates it, in two matching sets.
Four illustrations from nature follow the thesis (verses 4-7), and just as many from the moral world (verses 8-11).
The wind stands third, after the passing generations and the circling sun, and before the rivers.
The Hebrew word here does double duty — it is also the word for the highest, thinking part of a person. Its movement is unlike anything on the ground. So of the four pictures, this one looks the most likely to answer a man's unrest.
But what about the wind? The Hebrew word for wind is also the word for the highest part of feeling and even thinking nature. Its movements stand in the sharpest contrast with earthly motion. Is there any relief there for his tired spirit? ... There is nothing here to console his anxious spirit.
The wind is one case of a wider rule. Man is caught inside that rule too.
The first note about vanity is found in verses 4-11. There is a law of repetition, or circle-movement. It works in the sphere of nature as well as in human life. Generation follows generation; the sun has his circle; the winds too have their currents in which they blow from north to south and south to north; the waters also are subject to the same law. History repeats itself... Nothing is new; all is repetition, a monotonous sameness. Man is in the middle of it; he too is subject to this law. Everything under the sun is restless, unstable (except the earth itself, which abides forever: verse 4), hollow and empty, therefore all is vanity. Here is a picture of unrest, weariness, if not melancholy and despair.
The problem is not idleness. The problem is labour that never finishes.
A man's life and all that surrounds him speaks of ceaseless and repeated labour. The work begun is never perfected. Things in heaven and things on earth proclaim this... Each day the work gets done, only to be done again the next day. Each year it travels the same course again.
Seen the right way, nature itself is teaching a lesson.
Nature would teach him, if he looked at it the right way, that here, as yet, he can enjoy no lasting rest. Life is a busy scene.
One commentator pictures this circling as a turning wheel. God Himself set it turning — and that is exactly what perplexes.
In the book of Ecclesiastes we find the wheel in motion, but we do not see that it is the wheel of God's triumphal chariot. On the contrary, "vanity of vanities" is written on it; and that God has ordained the wheel is the cause of infinite perplexity.
What changes the picture is not new evidence from nature but light from outside it.
Here God, who is light, can alone give light; and revelation is our one source of certainty. Then, indeed, the wheel still turns; but the wheel of destiny becomes the chariot-wheel of God, as in Ezekiel.
If the circuit gives nothing, the search must move higher.
Turn where you will "under the sun" and you will not find anything the heart can rest on. You must rise on the steady and vigorous wing of faith to regions "above the sun," to find "a better and enduring substance"... None but Jesus can give substance. None but He can fill. None but He can satisfy. Christ's perfect work meets the deepest need of conscience. His glorious Person can satisfy the most earnest longings of the heart.
- Circuit — The wind's swing south and north is one of four pictures from nature (verses 4-7). It sits between the circling sun and the rivers.
- Spirit — The word for wind is also the word for the highest part of a person. Yet the freest mover in creation only goes round. It offers a tired spirit nothing.
- Repetition — The same law rules the wind, history and human life. It is a law of circle-movement, and man is inside it.
- Unfinished — The work begun is never completed. Each day and each year retraces the same course. Nature itself teaches that nothing here gives lasting rest.
- Above — God ordained the wheel. Without revelation that fact only perplexes. With it, the wheel of destiny becomes God's chariot-wheel — and the heart looks above the sun for what nothing under it can give.
All the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full unto the place whither the rivers go, thither they go again.
Solomon watches the water. Streams pour into the sea, and the sea never rises. It is motion without gain. If nature itself runs in a closed circle, where can anyone find something that lasts?
Verse 7 completes a short list. Generations, the sun, the wind, and now the waters all follow one pattern.
The first note of vanity comes in verses 4-11. There is a law of repetition, or circle-movement. It works in the sphere of nature as well as in human life. Generation follows generation. The sun runs its circle. The winds have their currents, blowing from north to south and south to north. The waters follow the same law too. History repeats itself: what has been is what will be, and what is done is what will be done. So there is nothing new under the sun. Nothing is new. It is all repetition, a dull sameness. Man is caught in it too; he is under the same law.
The verse describes what we now call the water cycle. Writers note that Solomon stated the balance long before anyone could measure it.
"All the rivers run into the sea yet the sea is not full: to the place where the rivers come, there they return again." Even Solomon's sharp observations could not have led him to know that evaporation is equal to the rainfall.
The system works. That is the point: it serves the earth well and gives nothing to the man watching it.
There remain the rivers or mountain streams: can they refresh a mind that is sick? "All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; to the place where the streams flow, there they flow again." Admirable for the earth and its atmosphere and every living creature; but not a drop of comfort for the man God made in His own image, after His likeness. All creation is now ruined and wretched through sin, all of it subject to vanity, groaning and suffering together until now. Man, its chief, feels and laments this most of all — unless he turns away from God and gives himself up to the dream of being perfected by education and science.
Commentators turn the image inward. The sea that swallows every river and stays level is a portrait of what a person is like.
Solomon says, "All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full." The sea is the human heart. If you could direct into those discontented hearts every river of earthly pleasure, they would still remain unfilled, unsatisfied. Men hunt for satisfaction where it never can be found. An iceberg yields no heat, salt no sweetness, and you cannot press wine from turnips. Man's heart was made for God, and only God, in Christ, can fill and satisfy it.
Another writer names the reason for the failure. The heart is the wrong size for what the world pours into it.
As all the rivers run into the sea, and yet the sea is not full, so all the waters of this world's resources may flow into the heart of man and he remains unsatisfied. His heart is too big for the world; for he was created for God, and God alone can satisfy his thirst. The world's pleasure cannot give him lasting joy, and its religion cannot save his soul or lift it up.
One phrase runs through the whole book, and it explains the bleak verdict.
The expression "under the sun" occurs no less than twenty-eight times in the twelve chapters, and gives the character of the book. It describes life "in Adam," and seeks an answer to the questions: What is best for man? How should he spend his life to be happy on earth? The writer speaks as a human philosopher in his wanderings. Sometimes he gets near the truth, and at other times he is far from it. The direct teaching from God comes in the last few verses of the book.
Against a sea that never fills, the New Testament sets a different kind of water — one that ends thirst instead of feeding it.
The Lord, in His reply, contrasts the water which occupied the woman's thoughts with the living water of which He was speaking. The water of the well, like all earthly joys of which it is the symbol, can never satisfy. Money, pleasure, ambition, duties and earthly relationships, if you pursue them, may give a moment's distraction or a brief pleasure. They give no lasting satisfaction. "Everyone who does not know Christ has either a disappointed heart, or a heart seeking what will disappoint it" (J.N.D.).
- Circle. Generations, sun, wind and rivers move in a fixed loop. Constant motion, no progress, "nothing new under the sun."
- Sea. The waters pour in and the level never rises. The observation is exact; the lesson Solomon draws from it is emptiness.
- Heart. Commentators read the sea as the human heart. Pour in every river of earthly pleasure and it stays unfilled. The heart is too big for the world.
- Sun. The gloom is by design. The book keeps to life "under the sun," a phrase used twenty-eight times, and saves God's own answer for its closing verses.
- Spring. What no river can do, Christ does. He offers living water, and only God in Christ can fill and satisfy the heart.
All things are full of toil; none can express it. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.
Here Solomon turns from the cycles of nature to life close at hand, and to the senses that take it in. His verdict is blunt: everything wears a man out, no words can capture it, and the two senses easiest to please never reach "enough."
One commentator explains what the Preacher turns to here, and why the eye and the ear are named:
Here the Preacher turns to the things closest at hand, the things people care about directly. He says that all these things — or all these words — wear us out (or, as some think, they are feeble), and that no one can put them into words. More than that: take the senses with the widest reach, the ones easiest to please — even there, the eye is not satisfied and the ear is not filled. The result is weariness and disappointment, not happiness.
The man behind this verdict lacked nothing. He had everything earth could give, and he tested all of it:
Such is the withering commentary on all earth's resources, given by the pen of one who had all that earth could give — one who was allowed to drain every cup of human and earthly pleasure to the very dregs. And what was it all? "Vanity and vexation of spirit." The resources of earth can never satisfy the poor human heart. Streams from created things can never quench the thirst of the immortal soul. Material things cannot possibly make us truly happy, even if they were permanent.
(The older translation reads "vexation of spirit"; the ESV has "a striving after wind.")
One writer traces this to a mismatch between the soul and everything it reaches for:
In Ecclesiastes, Solomon's self was seeking its own satisfaction. So there was no rest and no peace; it could not be otherwise. No human object could satisfy an immortal soul. A dying man could not find rest in what he was to die out of… As someone has said, in Ecclesiastes the heart was too great for the object; in the Song of Songs the object is too great for the heart. We need a large capacity for enjoying God Himself — a capacity that only God can give and only God can fill.
An eye that is never filled is not harmless. One writer names what it breeds:
What the eye sees seems to wake covetousness again and again, and it takes stern self-judgment to hold back this natural impulse of our hearts… Death feeds on mankind without a pause. It lays the body low in destruction and sends the spirit into the realms of the unseen, leaving only mourning and depression. In the same way, our eyes feed on all they can see, and never with a satisfying, living, vital result. All is passing and empty.
The Preacher weighs everything "under the sun." One writer marks that boundary and looks past it:
You will remember the old words, "The eye is not satisfied with seeing" (Eccl. 1:8). But the "preacher" was writing only about what is "under the sun." We who follow Christ are waiting to see what is above the sun. When we see Him "as He is," will we not then be fully satisfied?
The satisfaction this book cannot supply has a name:
That which satisfies, which is not vanity and vexation of spirit, is what is above the sun, not under it. From above the sun He came, who is the wisdom of God, the Son of God. He has come and gone, but He brought the true knowledge to the poor thirsting and hungry heart of man. He died for our sins, and He is now back above the sun. He is the One "in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge" (Col. 2). That which alone can satisfy is Christ.
- Wearying — All things wear a man out. The Preacher says no one can put that weariness into words.
- Unfilled — The eye and the ear reach furthest and are easiest to please. Neither ever arrives at "enough." What comes back is disappointment, not happiness.
- Mismatched — No human object can satisfy an immortal soul. No dying man rests in what he must die out of. The heart is too great for what earth offers it.
- Costly — An eye that is never filled breeds covetousness. Holding it back takes stern self-judgment.
- Above — Solomon's verdict covers only what is "under the sun." Christ came from above the sun, and He alone satisfies. When we see Him as He is, the eye will be filled at last.
That which hath been is that which shall be; and that which hath been done is that which will be done and there is nothing new under the sun.
The Preacher has just watched the sun, the wind and the rivers run their endless rounds. Now he turns that observation into a verdict on human history itself. Does anything at all escape the circle?
The words "under the sun" run through the whole book. One writer explains what they cover:
I also think the sun works differently here from those places where the moon and stars are mentioned too. Here it expresses universality. That is how Ecclesiastes uses "under the sun" again and again: "What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?" "There is nothing new under the sun," and so on.
Verses 4 to 8 described nature going in circles. Verse 9 says human affairs obey the same rule, and the writer names it:
The first note of vanity is found in verses 4-11. There is a law of repetition, or circle-movement. It works in nature as well as in human life. Generation follows generation. The sun has his circle. The winds too have their currents, blowing from north to south and south to north. The waters obey the same law. History repeats itself, for what has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done. So there is nothing new under the sun. Nothing is new; all is repetition, a monotonous unchangeableness. Man is in the middle of it, and he too is subject to this law. Everything under the sun is restless and unstable — except the earth itself, which stays forever (verse 4) — hollow and empty; so all is vanity. Here is a picture of unrest and weariness, if not of gloom and despair.
One hope is left — the enjoyment of something never tried before:
Then is there not the enjoyment of novelty? Granted, this is the moral realm, and we see it especially in what has been done. But is there not something of which it may be said, "See, this is new"? Even this has already been, or belonged to, the ages that were before us.
Why does the circle keep turning? One writer points to the man inside it:
People say that history repeats itself, and the reason is obvious: man repeats himself. Poor fallen man is in every generation only the reflection of his father Adam. And where God's grace has made a difference, even there a nature remains that keeps far too much of the likeness.
That makes the verse a test for new ideas:
"There is nothing new under the sun." An evil is corrupting the springs of religious thought and feeling across the fairest part of Europe today. It is the very same evil that laid Eve's heart in ruins in the garden of Eden. Her first step downward was to listen to the question, "Did God actually say...?" Then on she went, stage by stage, until at last she bowed to the serpent and owned him as her god and the fountain of truth.
Follow the same circle far enough and it changes shape:
The cycle the Preacher speaks of illustrates the vanity stamped on man's passing generations (Ecclesiastes 1). It also carries a higher and more comforting lesson... The cycle is no more a mere cycle. It does not, in fact, return to itself... it is a spiral rather than a proper circle... God's ways do not bring us back simply to the beginning. He does not repair the ruined past. Always a brighter and better thing comes out of it. The new Adam is not a mere repetition of the old. The new Paradise is the Paradise of God, not of man only.
- Circle. Nature turns in rounds, and human history turns with it — nothing but repetition, a "monotonous unchangeableness."
- Cause. History repeats because man repeats; every generation reflects Adam again.
- Closed. Novelty is the last hope, and it fails: what looks new already belonged to the ages before us.
- Clarity. The circle helps you spot error. What claims to be modern is an old evil in new clothes, going back to "Did God actually say...?"
- Christ. The wheel is a spiral, not a closed loop. God does not repair the ruined past; He brings something better out of it — a new Adam, a new Paradise.
Is there a thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? It hath been already in the ages which were before us.
Solomon does not simply say that nothing is new. He challenges the reader to point at one thing and call it new, and his answer is that every candidate has already had its turn in an earlier age.
Here the Preacher tests one more thing that promises satisfaction: the pleasure of the new. One commentator reads the verse as a question he raises and then answers himself:
Then is there not the enjoyment of something new? What has been is what will be, and what has been done will be done; there is nothing wholly new under the sun. Granted, this is the moral sphere, seen above all in what has been done. But is there not something of which it may be said, "See, this is new"? Even this has been in, or belonged to, the ages that were before us.
This verdict rests on a pattern the writer has just traced in nature, and it governs human life too:
The first note of emptiness comes in verses 4-11. There is a law of repetition, or circle-movement. It works in nature as well as in human life. Generation follows generation. The sun runs its circle. The winds have their currents, blowing from north to south and from south to north. The waters follow the same law. History repeats itself, for what has been is what will be, and what has been done will be done again. There is then nothing new under the sun. Nothing is new; all is repetition, a dull sameness that never changes. Man stands in the middle of it, and he too is under this law.
One phrase runs through the whole book and marks the limits of the search. It shows where the writer stands and what he leaves out of view:
The second expression we notice is "under the sun." It appears twenty-nine times in this book. What is "under the sun" is on the earth. There is, of course, something above the sun: heaven, the heavenly things. So Ecclesiastes deals with earthly things, with what man does apart from God — the natural man… The writer makes it clear that in all his searching he does not depend on divine revelation, on what is above the sun. He reaches his results by the light nature gives, and his resources are inside himself.
If everything has been here before, why do people keep announcing discoveries? One writer traces it to forgetfulness:
What has been will be, and there is nothing new under the sun. And to complete the picture of emptiness, there is no memory of former things, and there will be no memory of the things still to come among those who come after. People in Solomon's day forgot what had gone before, and that was not peculiar to his time. It has marked, and it will mark, man in every age.
The verse also gives a test. One writer applies it to Modernism, a teaching whose very name claims newness:
We propose to put Modernism to the test. One thing is certain, Modernism, despite its name, is not modern. It is as ancient as most errors. How true are the words of Scripture: "Is there a thing of which it is said, 'See, this is new'? It has been already in the ages before us" (Ecc. 1:10).
The book itself never breaks out of the circle it describes; the escape lies outside its horizon.
There is no question here of grace or of redemption. It is the experience of a man — a king with wisdom and riches — about human life. He tries to solve every puzzle in the world while looking at it all 'under the sun.' Only the wisdom that comes from above can solve them, or leave them unsolved in peace. Only in the New Testament do we get 'new creation,' which rises above the confusion of fallen humanity and reveals 'eternal life' that is in God's Son.
That newness is of a different order from anything the Preacher surveyed:
Notice carefully that the word NEW, when used of spiritual things, means something that has never been before. In everyday conversation we use the word new in a relative sense — new as opposed to old. But when we come to GOD'S new creation, it is not just a fresh creation but one of a completely new kind.
- The circle. Nature runs in circles, and human life runs with it. The same law of repetition holds sun, wind, rivers and man.
- The claim. This verse puts novelty on trial. Whatever someone calls new has already belonged to the ages before us.
- The memory. Things look new only because people forget what came before. That forgetting marks every age, not just Solomon's.
- The test. Check anything that markets itself as modern against this verse. Errors that call themselves new are as old as most errors.
- The exit. Only above the sun does the circle break. There God's "new" means what has never existed before, and eternal life is in His Son.
There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be remembrance of things that are to come with those who shall live afterwards.
Ecclesiastes reaches its bleakest note here. Nothing lasts, and even the memory of it does not last. Solomon has ruled out novelty and profit. Now he removes the last comfort left: that at least a man will be remembered.
The verse ends a chain of failed pleasures. One writer reads it as the end of the hope for lasting fame:
But is there no pleasure there, from what men call the last weakness of noble minds? "There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after." That is experience under the sun.
The same commentator sets it against the question just asked about novelty — whether anything can be pointed to and called new:
Then is there not the enjoyment of novelty? "What has been is what will be, and what has been done, what will be done, and there is nothing at all new under the sun." Granting this is the moral area, seen especially in what has been done; but is there not something of which it may be said, See, this is new? Even this has belonged to the ages that were before us.
It would be easy to treat this as a complaint about one man's era. One writer says it describes every age:
The forgetfulness in Solomon's days of what had gone before was not a feature peculiar to his time. It has, and it will, mark man in all ages. What profit then is there in the labour of man? What has been done will be done again, and what has been achieved will be forgotten by the generations that may come after.
The verse is not the whole truth about memory; it is the truth as far as human observation can see. One phrase, repeated all through the book, sets that limit:
The second word which we notice is "under the sun." This expression is found twenty-nine times in this book. Now that which is "under the sun" is on the earth. There is, of course, something which is above the sun, that is heaven, the heavenly things. Ecclesiastes then is occupied with earthly things, with what man does apart from God, that is the natural man… The writer makes it clear that in all his searching and description of the things under the sun he does not depend on divine revelation, on that which is above the sun. He reaches his results by the light nature gives. His resources are within himself.
Another writer draws the conclusion, then points to the contrast:
Note carefully: this is simply taking advantage of every material thing "under the sun." It looks at things only from an earthly viewpoint. So it teaches us that, apart from the revelation given of God, man's history is hopeless misery. How wonderful the contrast in the New Testament! It presents the Lord Jesus Christ, His revelation of the glory of God, and the eternal inheritance of the saints in light.
Human forgetting is no proof that the past has gone. One writer applies this to sins a person would rather forget:
You may plunge into every kind of pleasure in order, if possible, to forget the sins, and for a time you may succeed. But the sins are there, some forgotten, some well remembered as great blots in your life that you cannot erase from your memory. But whether secret or public, remembered or forgotten, great or small, they are there in the past, and God says He "requires that which is past" (Ecc. 3:15).
One writer sets God's own written record against the world's short memory:
"A book of remembrance was written before Him for them that feared the Lord, and thought upon His name." They feared the Lord, and the Lord remembered them. They thought upon His name, and He will not forget their names. But it was "before Him" the book was written, not before the world. A God-fearing walk, godly conversation, godly jealousy for the Lord's name — these traits do not write a man's name on the roll of this world's great ones. The world has only a short memory for such people.
Another writer traces such a record to God's own character:
God's very nature and character make it impossible for Him to overlook the evidence of true faith… His very righteousness requires that He fully recognise every "work and labour of love" shown "toward His Name." Such motives of love can be the result only of faith in Him personally… He can forget nothing that is the actual fruit of "love toward His Name."
- Forgotten — the verse takes away the last comfort under the sun. Even being remembered fails, and that holds in every age, not just Solomon's.
- Sun-limited — "under the sun" means results reached by observation, without revelation. On that ground alone, man's history is hopeless misery.
- Required — what man forgets does not vanish. Remembered or not, the past stands, and God requires what is past.
- Recorded — the world has no memory for such lives. God writes them in a book of remembrance, kept before Him, not before men.
- Rewarded — God's righteousness will not let Him forget work and labour of love shown toward His name.