Feast, Fools, and the Fine Art of Enjoying Life

Today I read Ecclesiastes chapters 7 through 12, and I keep circling back to one recurring message: enjoy life while you can. It comes up multiple times, sometimes tucked in between heavier reflections on death, injustice, and the limits of wisdom. At first glance, it might seem like a contradiction. Why would a book so focused on meaninglessness also keep nudging us toward joy?

Eat, Drink, Be Glad (and Don’t Overthink It)

Chapter 8, for example, says, "So I commend the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad." Later, in chapter 9, it goes further: "Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for God has already approved what you do." Even without anchoring this in belief, the sentiment is interesting: life is short and unpredictable, so make the most of it.

What makes this stand out is the context it sits in. Ecclesiastes is full of reminders that life isn’t fair. The wise die just like fools. The righteous suffer. The world doesn't operate on a clear system of moral cause and effect. In that kind of world, the suggestion to savor a meal or take pleasure in daily work feels less like escapism and more like a kind of quiet rebellion.

Joy Doesn’t Have to Be Grand

Is it hedonistic? Possibly. But it doesn’t come across as careless indulgence. There’s something modest about it. The text isn’t recommending lavish feasts or grand adventures. It’s pointing to food, wine, work, companionship—the basics of daily living. There’s no illusion that these things solve the bigger questions. They don’t. But maybe they don’t have to.

One line in chapter 9 struck me: "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead... there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom." It’s blunt. This life is all we have, and it has an end. That doesn’t mean nothing matters. Maybe it means what we do with the ordinary matters more than we realize.

Joy as a Reasonable Response

I’m not sure if Ecclesiastes is being hopeful or simply pragmatic. Either way, the idea that small, everyday pleasures carry their own kind of meaning feels surprisingly grounded. It doesn’t try to explain suffering or offer a grand solution. It just acknowledges what is and suggests we find what joy we can.

There’s no final answer here, but I appreciated how Ecclesiastes doesn’t flinch from hard truths. At the same time, it doesn’t suggest we give up. The enjoyment of life might not be the answer, but it seems to be a worthwhile response.