The Sickness of More: Laboring for the Wind Text: Ecclesiastes 5:10-17
Introduction: The Hunger That Never Fills
We live in a world that is drunk on the idea of "more." Our entire economic and advertising apparatus is a sophisticated machine designed to manufacture discontent. You are told, from the moment you wake to the moment you sleep, that you are not enough, you do not have enough, and that the next purchase, the next acquisition, the next dollar will finally deliver the satisfaction that has so far eluded you. This is the great lie of mammon, and it is a ravenous god. It promises everything and delivers nothing but a gnawing emptiness.
The Preacher in Ecclesiastes, Solomon, is a man who ran this experiment to its absolute limit. He had more gold, more women, more palaces, more wisdom, more everything than any man of his time. He had the keys to the kingdom of "more." And his conclusion, from the other side of that pursuit, is that it is all hevel, all vapor, a chasing after the wind. He is not speaking as a sour-grapes ascetic who despises what he could never have. He is speaking as the ultimate connoisseur of earthly pleasure and wealth, and he tells us plainly that the whole project is a dead end.
This passage before us is a clinical diagnosis of the sickness that infects the soul of the materialist. It is a spiritual pathology report. Solomon is not saying that money or things are intrinsically evil. God is the one who gives the resources of the earth. The problem is not the stuff; the problem is the love of the stuff. When a man sets his heart on money, he has chosen a lover that can never love him back and a master that will starve him. He is like a man dying of thirst who tries to quench it by drinking saltwater. The more he drinks, the thirstier he becomes, until the very thing he thinks will save him is the thing that destroys him.
What Solomon lays out here is a series of diagnostic observations about the man who labors for the wind. He shows us the futility of accumulation, the anxieties that come with it, and the ultimate, stark reality of the grave. This is not meant to drive us to despair, but rather to drive us to the only one who can give us the gift of contentment, the only one who can give us the can opener along with the can of peaches.
The Text
He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves abundance with its produce. This too is vanity. When good things increase, those who consume them increase. So what is the success to their masters except to look on with their eyes? The sleep of the laboring man is sweet, whether he eats little or much; but the satisfaction of the rich man does not allow him to sleep.
There is a sickening evil which I have seen under the sun: riches being hoarded by their master to his own evil demise. And those riches were lost through a bad endeavor; and he became the father of a son, but there was nothing in his hand for him. As he had come naked from his mother’s womb, so will he return as he came. He will carry nothing from the fruit of his labor that he can bring in his hand. This also is a sickening evil, exactly as a man came, so will he go. So what is the advantage to him who labors for the wind? Also, all his days he eats in darkness with much vexation, and his sickness and anger.
(Ecclesiastes 5:10-17 LSB)
The Insatiable Appetite (v. 10-11)
The Preacher begins with a foundational axiom of spiritual economics.
"He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves abundance with its produce. This too is vanity." (Ecclesiastes 5:10)
This is not a suggestion; it is a law of the universe, as fixed as gravity. The love of money is a spiritual black hole. It has an event horizon past which satisfaction is impossible. Why? Because the human heart was created for God. It has a God-shaped hole in it, and when you try to stuff it with anything else, especially something as thin and meaningless as money, it is a fool's errand. Augustine was simply commenting on this verse when he said, "You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you."
The man who loves money thinks that a certain number on a screen will finally make him happy. But when he gets there, he finds the goalposts have moved. The disease of "more" is a progressive disease. The desire for wealth grows with the wealth itself. It is an appetite that is enlarged by the very thing that feeds it. This is why the Apostle Paul tells Timothy that the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and that some, in their eagerness to get rich, have pierced themselves through with many sorrows (1 Tim. 6:10). It is a self-inflicted wound.
"When good things increase, those who consume them increase. So what is the success to their masters except to look on with their eyes?" (Ecclesiastes 5:11)
Here is the practical absurdity of it all. As your wealth grows, so does your overhead. You get a bigger house, which needs more maintenance. You get more cars, which need more insurance. You have more assets, which require more managers, accountants, and lawyers. A whole ecosystem of dependents, employees, and flatterers springs up around the wealth. They are the "consumers" who increase right alongside the goods. And so the owner of all this wealth finds that his actual, practical benefit is reduced to simply looking at it. He can see the numbers in his portfolio. He can walk through his garages. But he is a spectator of his own success, not a participant in true satisfaction. He has become the curator of a museum that he himself cannot enjoy.
The Anxious Rich and the Contented Laborer (v. 12)
Next, Solomon draws a sharp contrast between two kinds of men.
"The sleep of the laboring man is sweet, whether he eats little or much; but the satisfaction of the rich man does not allow him to sleep." (Ecclesiastes 5:12)
This is a brilliant piece of pastoral observation. The man who works with his hands, who expends his energy in productive labor, earns his rest. His body is tired, his mind is not cluttered with the anxieties of the stock market, and so his sleep is sweet. It doesn't matter if his supper was meager or plentiful. His contentment is not tied to his consumption but to the rhythm of his God-ordained work.
But the rich man is another story. His "satisfaction," or more accurately, his "satiety" or "fullness," keeps him awake. This works on two levels. Physically, his gluttony and lack of exertion can lead to indigestion and restlessness. But more profoundly, the fullness of his portfolio, the sheer weight of his abundance, robs him of peace. He lies awake worrying about market fluctuations, about security, about lawsuits, about who is trying to cheat him. His wealth, which was supposed to provide security, has become the very source of his insecurity. He has labored to acquire a very expensive form of insomnia.
The Hoarded Wealth and the Empty Hand (v. 13-15)
The Preacher now turns to what he calls a "sickening evil," a grievous calamity that he has observed under the sun.
"There is a sickening evil which I have seen under the sun: riches being hoarded by their master to his own evil demise. And those riches were lost through a bad endeavor; and he became the father of a son, but there was nothing in his hand for him." (Ecclesiastes 5:13-14)
The sin here is hoarding. It is wealth held in a clenched fist. This is the man who sees his riches not as a tool for dominion, generosity, and joy, but as an end in itself. He guards it, serves it, and ultimately, is destroyed by it. It is "to his own evil demise." Notice the irony: the wealth he thought was his servant has become his master, and a cruel one at that.
And the vanity is compounded by its fragility. The hoarded fortune is lost in a "bad endeavor," a single poor investment, a sudden market crash. All the years of scraping, saving, and worrying are wiped out in a moment. And the tragedy is generational. He fathers a son, but the inheritance he lived for, the legacy he slaved to build, has vanished. The son is left with nothing in his hand. The father's life was a waste, and the son is left with the consequences of that waste.
"As he had come naked from his mother’s womb, so will he return as he came. He will carry nothing from the fruit of his labor that he can bring in his hand." (Ecclesiastes 5:15)
This is the great equalizer. This is the final audit, and no one can cook the books. The Preacher is echoing the profound statement of faith that Job made in the midst of his own catastrophic loss: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return" (Job 1:21). Paul repeats this for the New Covenant church: "For we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world" (1 Tim. 6:7). The richest man in the world dies as naked as the poorest. The hearse does not have a luggage rack. You cannot take it with you. All the labor for wealth that terminates on itself is labor for the wind.
The Final Accounting (v. 16-17)
Solomon drives the point home, repeating his diagnosis of a "sickening evil."
"This also is a sickening evil, exactly as a man came, so will he go. So what is the advantage to him who labors for the wind? Also, all his days he eats in darkness with much vexation, and his sickness and anger." (Ecclesiastes 5:16-17)
The question is rhetorical, but it is devastating. "What is the advantage?" What profit is there in a life spent chasing the wind? You end with nothing but exhaustion. You cannot grasp the wind, you cannot bottle it, and you cannot deposit it in the bank. To live for the accumulation of earthly things is to dedicate your life to the most futile task imaginable.
And the process is as miserable as the result. The man who lives this way "eats in darkness." This is a powerful metaphor. His life is devoid of joy, fellowship, and light. Even a basic act of sustenance like a meal is shrouded in gloom. He is miserly, suspicious, and isolated. His life is characterized not by peace, but by "much vexation, and his sickness and anger." The internal state of the man who loves money is one of constant turmoil. He is vexed by his worries, sickened by his anxieties, and angered by anything that threatens his hoard. This is not the abundant life. This is hell on earth, a down payment on the real thing.
The Gospel for Wind-Chasers
If the sermon ended there, we would all go home and despair. But this diagnosis of life "under the sun" is meant to drive us to the one who is high above the sun. The problem described here is the problem of a heart curved in on itself, a heart that worships the creature rather than the Creator.
The gospel of Jesus Christ is the only cure for this sickness. Jesus tells us not to labor for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life (John 6:27). He warns us that we cannot serve both God and mammon (Matt. 6:24). You have to pick one. One is a loving Father; the other is a murderous tyrant.
The man in this passage eats in darkness. But Jesus says, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life" (John 8:12). The man in this passage is vexed, sick, and angry. But Jesus says, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest" (Matt. 11:28). The man in this passage leaves the world naked and empty-handed. But the Christian is told to lay up for himself treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroy and where thieves do not break in and steal (Matt. 6:20).
How do we do this? We do it by recognizing that everything we have is a gift from God, to be managed for His glory. We work hard, not to hoard, but to have something to give to those in need (Eph. 4:28). We receive our daily bread with thanksgiving, whether it is a little or a lot. We learn, with Paul, the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. And that secret is Christ, who strengthens us (Phil. 4:12-13).
The ultimate answer to the vanity of Ecclesiastes is the incarnation. The eternal Son of God, who possessed all the riches of heaven, did not hoard them. He emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant (Phil. 2:7). He who was rich, for our sakes became poor, so that we by His poverty might become rich (2 Cor. 8:9). He came naked into the world at His birth and was stripped naked before the world at His death. He did this to purchase for us a treasure that can never be lost, an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you. Stop chasing the wind. Turn in faith to Jesus Christ, and He will give you true riches, and the heart to enjoy them.