The Man Who Had Everything and Nothing Text: Ecclesiastes 2:1-11
Introduction: The Ultimate Test Drive
We live in an age that is drunk on the pursuit of happiness. Our entire culture, from our advertising to our entertainment to our politics, is a massive, coordinated effort to convince us that the next purchase, the next experience, the next relationship, or the next policy will finally deliver the lasting satisfaction we crave. We are told to follow our hearts, to live our truth, to seize the day, and to deny ourselves nothing. The fundamental assumption is that if we could just accumulate enough good things, enough pleasant moments, we could build a fortress of joy for ourselves, brick by golden brick.
The problem with this approach is that it is not a new idea. It is, in fact, a very old and thoroughly tested hypothesis. And the man who ran the definitive experiment, the man with an unlimited research budget and a world-class laboratory, was Solomon, the Preacher. In this second chapter of Ecclesiastes, he takes us on a tour of his laboratory. He is going to test the claims of hedonism, materialism, and aestheticism with a rigor that no man before or since could ever hope to match. He is going to climb to the very summit of human achievement and pleasure to see if the view is worth it.
But we must understand this correctly. This is not the memoir of a jaded rock star, full of regret and self-pity. This is a divine autopsy on the corpse of worldliness. Solomon is not writing this in the middle of a drunken bender; he is writing as a repentant king, looking back with sober wisdom on his grand experiment. He tells us explicitly that his wisdom remained with him throughout the process. This was a controlled burn. He was a philosopher king investigating the claims of folly, not a fool surrendering to it. He is about to give the definitive, inspired answer to the question our world keeps asking: can a man find ultimate meaning and satisfaction "under the sun," in the realm of created things, apart from the Creator?
What he discovers is not a recommendation for asceticism or a call to reject God's good gifts. Rather, it is a foundational lesson in spiritual physics. It is a demonstration that the human heart was created with a God-shaped void, and if you try to fill it with anything else, no matter how grand or glorious, you will find that you are simply chasing the wind.
The Text
I said in my heart, “Come now, I will test you with gladness, so that you shall see good things.” And behold, it too was vanity. I said of laughter, “It is madness,” and of gladness, “What does it do?” I explored with my heart how to stimulate my body with wine, while my heart was guiding me wisely, and how to seize simpleminded folly, until I could see where is this good for the sons of men in what they do under heaven the few days of their lives. I made my works great: I built houses for myself; I planted vineyards for myself; I made for myself gardens and parks, and I planted in them all kinds of fruit trees; I made for myself pools of water from which to water a forest of growing trees. I bought male and female slaves, and I had homeborn slaves. Also I possessed flocks and herds larger than all who preceded me in Jerusalem. Also, I collected for myself silver and gold and the treasure of kings and provinces. I provided for myself male and female singers and the pleasures of the sons of men, many concubines.
Then I became great and increased more than all who preceded me in Jerusalem. My wisdom also stood by me. All that my eyes asked for I did not refuse them. I did not withhold my heart from any gladness, for my heart was glad because of all my labor, and this was my reward for all my labor. Thus I turned to all my works which my hands had done and the labor which I had labored to do, and behold, all was vanity and striving after wind, and there was no advantage under the sun.
(Ecclesiastes 2:1-11 LSB)
The Experiment in Mirth (vv. 1-3)
The Preacher begins his investigation with the most direct route to happiness that the world knows: pleasure.
"I said in my heart, 'Come now, I will test you with gladness, so that you shall see good things.' And behold, it too was vanity. I said of laughter, 'It is madness,' and of gladness, 'What does it do?'" (Ecclesiastes 2:1-2)
Solomon speaks to his own heart, treating it as the subject of a scientific test. The goal is to "see good," to experience pleasure in its purest form. But the conclusion comes immediately: "it too was vanity." The Hebrew word is hebel, which means vapor, smoke, or a puff of wind. It is not that pleasure is non-existent; it is that it is insubstantial. It is like trying to grab a fistful of fog. The moment you close your hand, it is gone.
He then passes judgment on two of pleasure's chief expressions. Laughter, when pursued as an end in itself, is "madness." It is a frantic, hollow noise that distracts from reality but cannot change it. And gladness, the feeling of mirth, is interrogated: "What does it do?" What does it accomplish? What lasting profit does it produce? The implied answer is nothing. It is a fleeting chemical reaction in the brain, and then it is over, leaving you right where you started, only now you need a bigger dose to get the same effect.
He continues his exploration in the next verse:
"I explored with my heart how to stimulate my body with wine, while my heart was guiding me wisely, and how to seize simpleminded folly, until I could see where is this good for the sons of men..." (Ecclesiastes 2:3)
Here we see the control for the experiment. He is going to test wine, the great social lubricant and joy-inducer, but he does it while his heart, his mind, is "guiding me wisely." This is not a pathetic slide into alcoholism. This is a calculated investigation. He is dipping his ladle into the vat of folly to analyze its contents, not to drown in it. He wants to know if this path, the path of cultivated, sophisticated hedonism, holds the key to the good life for men during their short time on earth. He is asking the question that every fraternity boy and every high-powered executive tries to answer on the weekend: can I find transcendence in this bottle? Can I find meaning in this party?
The Experiment in Accomplishment (vv. 4-8)
Having found pleasure wanting, Solomon turns to a more respectable pursuit: the accumulation of great works and great wealth. If fleeting fun is vapor, perhaps lasting accomplishments are substance.
"I made my works great: I built houses for myself; I planted vineyards for myself; I made for myself gardens and parks... I made for myself pools of water... I bought male and female slaves... I possessed flocks and herds... I collected for myself silver and gold..." (Ecclesiastes 2:4-8)
The litany is breathtaking. The recurring phrase is "for myself." This is a man-centered universe he is constructing. He engages in massive architectural projects, horticultural engineering on a grand scale, and aquacultural infrastructure. He becomes a titan of industry and agriculture. He acquires immense human capital and livestock. His wealth is not just local; he gathers the "treasure of kings and provinces." He has it all. He is Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, and the Getty museum all rolled into one ancient Israelite king.
And he does not neglect the finer things. He has the best entertainment money can buy, "male and female singers." And then, in a phrase that has caused much debate, he acquires the "pleasures of the sons of men, many concubines." He explores the limits of sensual and sexual experience. He builds an empire of accomplishment, wealth, and pleasure that is unrivaled in human history. If happiness can be built, he has laid the foundation and raised the walls higher than any other man.
The Peak and the Verdict (vv. 9-11)
Solomon now summarizes his position at the apex of human experience before delivering the final, crushing verdict.
"Then I became great and increased more than all who preceded me in Jerusalem. My wisdom also stood by me. All that my eyes asked for I did not refuse them. I did not withhold my heart from any gladness, for my heart was glad because of all my labor, and this was my reward for all my labor." (Ecclesiastes 2:9-10)
He reached the top. No one before him in Jerusalem had achieved such greatness. And again, he reminds us that he did not lose his mind in the process: "My wisdom also stood by me." He was in complete control. He had a policy of total indulgence: whatever he wanted, he got. This is the modern dream in its purest form.
And notice something fascinating. He says his heart was glad "because of all my labor, and this was my reward." There is a temporary satisfaction in the work itself. The process of building, accumulating, and achieving provides its own kind of pleasure. It is a distraction, a noble one perhaps, but a distraction nonetheless. This is the reward that a life lived "under the sun" can offer: the temporary joy of the project, the fleeting gladness of the labor. But is it enough? Is it ultimate?
Now comes the moment of truth. He steps back from it all to make his assessment.
"Thus I turned to all my works which my hands had done and the labor which I had labored to do, and behold, all was vanity and striving after wind, and there was no advantage under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 2:11)
This is one of the most devastating verses in all of Scripture. After all the building, all the planting, all the acquiring, all the enjoying, the final evaluation is in. "Behold." He wants us to look squarely at the result. It was all hebel, vapor. It was "striving after wind," or as some translate it, "shepherding the wind." It is the attempt to do the impossible, to control the uncontrollable, to find substance in what is by nature insubstantial.
And then the key phrase: "there was no advantage under the sun." The word for advantage is yitron. It is an accounting term. It means net profit, what is left over after all the costs have been paid. And Solomon, the wisest man in the world, audits the books of his own magnificent life and concludes that the bottom line is zero. When you live your life solely within the closed system of this world, under the sun, there is no lasting profit. You can pile up pleasure and possessions to the sky, but in the end, it all amounts to nothing.
The Can Opener of Faith
So what is the lesson here? Is it that houses, gardens, music, and wine are evil? Not at all. God is the one who gives these things. The problem is not the stuff. The problem is the heart that seeks to make the stuff its god. The problem is trying to find in the creation the satisfaction that can only be found in the Creator.
Solomon had a thousand cans of the finest peaches in the world. He had storehouses full of them. But what he demonstrates here is that without God, you have no can opener. God gives men many external blessings, but He often withholds the ability to enjoy them. [1] A man can have the finest food but no taste buds. He can have a beautiful wife but be impotent. He can have a library full of books but be unable to read. The world is full of miserable rich people who can only lick the glue off the label of the can, trying to get some taste of sweetness.
The ability to enjoy God's gifts is itself a gift from God. And it is a gift He gives to those who fear Him. The Preacher will say later, "Go, eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart, for God has already accepted your works" (Ecclesiastes 9:7). The Christian is the only true hedonist, because he is the only one who has the can opener. He receives every good thing, not as an idol to be worshiped, but as a gift from a loving Father's hand. He can enjoy the vineyard because he knows the Vinedresser. He can enjoy the song because he worships the Composer.
Solomon's grand experiment was a failure, and we must thank God for it. He walked to the end of every road that promises happiness apart from God and put up a sign that reads "Dead End." He did this so that we would not have to. He shows us that all our striving under the sun is a chasing after wind.
But in the gospel, God does the impossible. The one who rides on the wings of the wind, Jesus Christ, came down into our world of vapor and smoke. He took on our empty, futile, striving existence. And on the cross, He gathered all of our hebel, all of our vanity, into Himself and bore the curse for it. He did this so that we, through faith in Him, might be given true substance, true joy, and a true inheritance that does not fade. He does not just give us the can of peaches; He gives us Himself, the bread of life and the fountain of living water. And in Him, and in Him alone, we find that there is, after all, an eternal advantage, a profit that can never be taken away.