The Work, the Wealth, and the Wind: A Surprisingly Relatable Crisis

I spent time this morning reading Ecclesiastes 1 through 6, and what stayed with me most were the passages about work, wealth, and the apparent futility of both.

The writer—often called the Teacher—keeps circling back to the idea that hard work doesn’t guarantee satisfaction. In chapter 2, he says he tried cheering himself with wine, undertaking great projects, and amassing silver and gold. He built gardens, bought slaves, and acquired singers. He had everything a person could want. And yet, "when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind."

Gold, Gardens, and Growing Emptiness

There’s something brutally honest about this. The Teacher doesn’t dismiss work entirely, but he questions whether achievement or wealth can ever offer the kind of lasting fulfillment people expect from them. This stands in contrast to a lot of modern thinking, where productivity is often treated like a moral good, and success is measured in output and accumulation.

Chapter 5 brings the same theme into sharper focus: "Whoever loves money never has enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income." That line could be dropped into a conversation today without anyone realizing it came from an ancient text. It’s not cynical—it’s observational. People often believe that just a bit more will finally be enough, only to discover the finish line keeps moving.

A Case for Snacks and a Nap

What’s even more interesting is the thread of quiet contentment that runs through these chapters, often tucked between more pessimistic thoughts. There are a few moments where the Teacher acknowledges the simple things: eating, drinking, finding some enjoyment in one's work. Not because these things are grand or permanent, but because they’re real in the moment.

That feels like a major tension in the text: the pursuit of more versus the acceptance of enough. The Teacher has seen both sides—wealth and simplicity—and doesn’t glorify either. Instead, he seems to be asking whether it’s possible to live well without fooling ourselves about what that actually means.

Maybe Good Enough Really Is

I’m left wondering whether the point is to stop looking for ultimate meaning in work or wealth at all. Maybe the act of doing something well, or enjoying a quiet evening, is enough on its own terms. Not as part of a grand plan, but as its own small, complete thing.

Ecclesiastes names the dissatisfaction that can come from striving, but also points to the fleeting goodness in daily life.