The Miserable Folly of the Lone Ranger Text: Ecclesiastes 4:7-8
Introduction: The Myth of the Self-Made Man
We live in a culture that worships at the altar of the autonomous individual. The great hero of our age is the "self-made man," the rugged individualist who pulls himself up by his own bootstraps, beholden to no one. He is the captain of his fate, the master of his soul. He builds his empire alone, trusts no one, and answers to no one. And our passage for today tells us that this man is a fool, and his life is a miserable tragedy.
The Preacher in Ecclesiastes is a master diagnostician of the human condition "under the sun." He looks at the world with unflinching realism, stripping away all our pious platitudes and self-congratulatory myths. And when he looks at the man who has achieved the pinnacle of modern success, wealth and independence, he doesn't see a hero. He sees a pathetic figure, a man trapped in a hamster wheel of his own making, laboring for a purpose he cannot name, and accumulating treasures he cannot enjoy. This is not a portrait of success; it is an autopsy of a wasted life.
The Bible's worldview is thoroughly covenantal. It is relational from top to bottom, because the God who made the world is Himself a society, a fellowship of three persons. From the very beginning, God declared that it is "not good that the man should be alone" (Genesis 2:18). This was not just a comment about marriage; it was a foundational statement about the nature of humanity as created in the image of a triune God. We were made for fellowship, for communion, for interdependence. The attempt to live as an isolated unit is therefore a rebellion against the very grain of creation. It is an attempt to be a god, self-sufficient and self-contained. And like all such attempts, it ends in vanity, in smoke, in a grievous endeavor.
The man in our text is not an atheist in theory, perhaps. He might even have a Bible on his shelf. But in practice, he is a functional atheist. His life is a closed loop. There is no one above him to whom he must give an account, and no one beside him for whom he is responsible. He has successfully cut himself off from God and neighbor, and the result is not liberation, but a prison of meaningless toil.
The Text
Then I looked again at vanity under the sun. There was a certain man without a second man, having neither a son nor a brother, yet there was no end to all his labor. Indeed, his eyes were not satisfied with riches--"And for whom am I laboring and depriving myself of good?" This too is vanity, and it is a grievous endeavor.
(Ecclesiastes 4:7-8 LSB)
Another Puff of Smoke (v. 7)
The Preacher begins this section by returning to his central theme.
"Then I looked again at vanity under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 4:7)
The word for vanity is hebel. It means vapor, smoke, a puff of wind. It describes that which is fleeting, insubstantial, and ultimately frustrating when you try to grasp it. The Preacher is not saying that life is meaningless in an absolute sense. He is saying that life "under the sun," life lived apart from a conscious, constant reference to the God who is above the sun, is nothing but hebel. It is like trying to build a house out of fog. It is a chasing after the wind.
He says he "looked again." This is the careful observation of a wise man. He is not just glancing at the surface of things. He is a sociologist of the soul, examining the patterns of human behavior and tracing them to their logical, and often miserable, conclusions. He sees the world as it is, not as our marketing slogans pretend it is. And he sees another example of this profound futility, this smoke-chasing, in the life of the isolated workaholic.
The Portrait of Isolation (v. 8a)
In the first part of verse 8, he paints a stark picture of a man utterly alone.
"There was a certain man without a second man, having neither a son nor a brother..." (Ecclesiastes 4:8a)
This is a man who is relationally impoverished. "Without a second man" is a comprehensive statement of his isolation. But the Preacher specifies the two most fundamental relationships that would give meaning and purpose to a man's labor in the ancient world: a son and a brother. A son represents the future, the continuation of one's name and legacy. A brother represents the present, a partner and companion in life's struggles and endeavors. This man has neither.
He is not just single; he is disconnected. He is a branch cut off from the tree. In the biblical mindset, this is a state of profound poverty, regardless of one's financial portfolio. God sets the solitary in families (Psalm 68:6). To be without family, without covenant connection, is to be adrift. This man has achieved the modern ideal of complete autonomy, and the Bible calls it a curse.
This is not a condemnation of singleness as such. The apostle Paul was single and his life was anything but vain. But Paul was not "without a second man." He was deeply embedded in the life of the church, with brothers and sons in the faith surrounding him. His life was poured out for others. The man here is alone in a way that is selfish and sterile. His aloneness is the central feature of his life.
The Unending, Unsatisfied Toil (v. 8b)
Next, we see the tragic irony of his life: his isolation fuels an endless, unsatisfying obsession with work and wealth.
"...yet there was no end to all his labor. Indeed, his eyes were not satisfied with riches..." (Ecclesiastes 4:8b)
You would think that a man with no dependents would work less, not more. But the Preacher observes the opposite. Because his labor is not directed toward a godly purpose, toward loving and providing for others, it becomes an end in itself. Work, which was given by God as a glorious gift of stewardship and creativity, becomes a tyrannical idol. There is "no end" to it. It is a perpetual grind, a motor that cannot be switched off.
And the goal of this labor, riches, provides no satisfaction. "His eyes were not satisfied with riches." This is a recurring theme in Scripture. "He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves wealth with his income" (Ecclesiastes 5:10). The eye is never satisfied with seeing (Ecclesiastes 1:8). The lust for more is a bottomless pit. When wealth is detached from its purpose, which is to glorify God and serve our neighbor, it becomes a ravenous beast that devours the man who serves it. He thinks he possesses his riches, but in reality, his riches possess him.
The Agonizing Question (v. 8c)
At some point, perhaps in a rare moment of quiet reflection, the terrible, clarifying question breaks through.
"--'And for whom am I laboring and depriving myself of good?'" (Ecclesiastes 4:8c)
This is the cry of a man who has climbed the ladder of success only to find it was leaning against the wrong wall. He has sacrificed everything for his work. He has deprived his own soul of good, of enjoyment, of rest, of fellowship. And for what? For whom?
The question hangs in the air because there is no answer. He has no son to inherit his wealth. He has no brother to share it with. He has no God to honor with it. He is simply piling up tokens in a game that has no point. He is running a race with no finish line and no prize. This is the existential horror at the heart of all godless ambition. The man has gained a version of the world, but he has lost his own soul, and he is beginning to realize the dreadful nature of his bargain.
The Preacher then delivers his final verdict.
"This too is vanity, and it is a grievous endeavor." (Ecclesiastes 4:8d)
It is hebel. It is smoke. His whole life's work, his empire of one, amounts to a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes. And it is more than just futile; it is a "grievous endeavor." The word means a sore, unhappy, miserable business. This is not a neutral description. It is a diagnosis of deep spiritual sickness. The man is not to be admired or emulated; he is to be pitied. He is a walking tragedy.
The Gospel for the Lone Ranger
This passage is a brilliant diagnosis, but it is not the final word. The Preacher shows us the disease, but the rest of Scripture shows us the cure. The miserable condition of this isolated man is a picture of every one of us apart from Christ.
In our natural, fallen state, we are all striving "for whom?" We are all laboring for ourselves, which is to say, for a black hole. We are all "without a second man" in the most important sense, because our sin has cut us off from God and from one another. We are spiritual orphans and isolated individuals, trying to build our own little kingdoms of dirt.
Into this isolation, God the Son came. He did not come as an isolated individual. He came as the Son, sent by the Father, in the power of the Spirit. He came to create a new family, a new brotherhood. "For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers" (Hebrews 2:11).
Jesus Christ answers the agonizing question, "For whom am I laboring?" The Christian's answer is clear: We labor for the glory of God and the good of our neighbor. Our work is no longer a meaningless grind, but a joyful act of worship and service. We are no longer piling up riches that our eyes can never be satisfied with, but we are laying up treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys (Matthew 6:20).
The gospel frees us from the prison of self. It takes us out of our miserable isolation and plants us in the rich soil of the church, the family of God. Here we find true brothers and sisters. Here we find a purpose for our labor that extends beyond the grave. We are no longer lone rangers. We are members of a body, stones in a temple, soldiers in an army. The vanity of a life lived for oneself is replaced by the solid, weighty glory of a life lived for Christ and His Kingdom. He takes our grievous endeavors and, by His grace, transforms them into good works that He prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them (Ephesians 2:10).