The book opens with a speaker who gives himself a title and no name: the Preacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem. His first words are a sigh. Vanity of vanities, he says, all is vanity. Then he asks what a person gains from all the labour they do under the sun.
He answers by pointing at things that go round. One generation goes and another comes, but the earth stays. The sun rises, sets, and hurries back to the place where it rose. The wind turns south, then north, and returns on its circuits. Every river runs into the sea, and the sea is never full. The eye is never satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. There is nothing new under the sun, he says, and whatever seems new has been done before. No one remembers former things, and those who come later will not be remembered by the ones after them.
Then the king speaks of himself. He gave his heart to search out all that is done under heaven, and he calls it a sore task that God has given to people. He grew great and gathered more wisdom than anyone before him in Jerusalem. He set out to know wisdom, and also madness and folly, and found that this too is a vexation of spirit. What is crooked cannot be made straight, and what is missing cannot be counted. In much wisdom is much grief, he says, and whoever adds knowledge adds sorrow.
The wisest man in Jerusalem is, by his own count, also its most sorrowful. He does not yet say whether that is a price or a verdict.
Coming Up in Chapter 2
The Preacher has said that wisdom brings grief. Next he runs an experiment on himself. He tells his heart, "I will prove thee with mirth," and sets out to test pleasure. He tries laughter and wine, then builds houses, vineyards and pools, and gathers servants, silver and gold. Will any of it give him something to keep?