Ancient Near Eastern wisdom literature frequently wrestled with the apparent lack of justice in the visible world. In the bustling markets of Jerusalem, merchants accumulated gold and spices while kings amassed concubines and territories; yet, the Teacher observed a troubling paradox amidst this splendor. Prosperity was usually viewed as a direct sign of divine favor in the ancient worldview, but reality frequently contradicted this tidy theological formula. Wealth did not guarantee happiness, nor did a long life promise peace. The observer stands back, perhaps watching a wealthy merchant who is too anxious to eat his own feast, and notes a deep evil or heavy burden that is common to the human experience. This heaviness is not born of poverty but of a specific kind of spiritual disconnect.

Reflections

The text portrays the Lord as the sovereign dispenser of both resources and the capacity to enjoy them. It is noted that God grants "riches, wealth, and honor" so that a person lacks nothing they desire; however, the ability to find satisfaction in these gifts is distinct from the gifts themselves. God appears here not just as a provider but as the ultimate authority who determines the boundaries of human experience. The scripture suggests that a person "cannot contend with one stronger than he," implying that the Lord maintains a power over human destiny that cannot be debated or altered by human will.

Human existence is depicted as deeply fragile even amidst apparent success. A man might father a hundred children or live two thousand years; yet, without satisfaction or a "proper burial" (a sign of dignity and legacy), his life is considered less fortunate than a stillborn child. The text observes that all human labor is ultimately driven by basic needs, like hunger, yet the "appetite is never satisfied." This highlights a cycle of consumption where desires wander restlessly. Whether one is wise or poor but socially adept, the advantage is negligible if the soul remains empty. The "wandering of desire" is described as a futile chase, much like trying to catch the wind.

Integrating these observations requires an acceptance of life’s ephemeral nature. The text asks who really knows what is good during the "few days" of a life that passes "like a shadow." Rather than engaging in the multiplication of words which only increases futility, the wiser path involves appreciating what is immediately present. "Better what the eye can see" suggests focusing on tangible reality rather than hypothetical desires. It serves as a reminder to seek the capacity for enjoyment as a separate grace from the acquisition of things; recognizing that piling up words or arguments against the nature of things brings no profit.