“Meaningless! Meaningless! … Everything is meaningless.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2 NIV)
That ancient refrain regularly resounds in modern consulting rooms.
A Story of Confronting Death
Recently, I met a young lady who by all outward measures was “doing well”. She was bright, successful in her career, married to a loving husband, and a mother to a bubbly child.
But when her grandfather became critically ill, followed by her parents’ sudden health problems, her inner world unravelled.
A door opened in her mind that she could not close. Thoughts spiralled:
What happens when I die? Why build a life if everything ends? If life is fleeting, why bring another child into a world where everything ends?
Her days became haunted by waves of dread. Intrusive images of funerals, fading faces. Death and nothingness.
“If everything is ultimately meaningless,” she wept in my office, “why should I enjoy anything? Why build a life, a family, a career … if it will all end?”
She thought she was alone. She wasn’t. She was human.
Many young people today aren’t just stressed; they are overwhelmed by existential questions. Not only wrestling with exams and deadlines, but with a persistent, haunting thought: What’s the point?
Nothing New Under the Sun
“What has been will be again … there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9 NIV)
Despite living in arguably one of the safest and most affluent eras in human history, youth today report unprecedented levels of anxiety, depression, loneliness, and dread about the future.
Ecclesiastes highlights a timeless truth: We humans compare.
Comparison is not new. But today it never stops. It sits on our phones, buzzing every few minutes on social media: who got promoted, who bought a new condominium, who travelled to Antarctica.
Beneath the scrolling, an age-old longing murmurs: See me. Approve of me. Tell me I matter.
There are external expectations—grades, careers, milestones. But the heaviest expectations are the ones we impose on ourselves:
I must not fall behind.
I must be impressive.
I must be exceptional.
Ecclesiastes gently exposes this illusion. Pleasure, wisdom, wealth—none can bear the full weight of meaning. They are hebel—mist, vapour, breath. Good gifts, but they can easily become the idols of our hearts.
Artificial Intelligence and the Crisis of Significance
Today’s youth face an additional layer of pressure: artificial intelligence.
AI drafts essays, codes, plans business strategy, and even diagnoses medical conditions. People quietly wonder:
If machines can do what I do, what makes me valuable?
This is more than economic anxiety. It is an identity crisis. We have built a culture that equates worth with productivity and accomplishment. But what happens when machines outperform us?
Ecclesiastes offers us a gentle reassurance:
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart …” (Ecclesiastes 3:11 NIV)
The longing for meaning is not a psychological flaw—it is a spiritual clue. A sign that we were made for something more.
What Endures … and What Does Not
Ecclesiastes slices through modern illusions with startling clarity:
If success is everything, failure will devastate us.
If productivity is everything, rest will feel like guilt.
If beauty and youth are everything, ageing will terrify us.
If usefulness is everything, AI will threaten us.
But the Teacher does not end in despair. He urges us to enjoy simple gifts: eating, working, loving, rejoicing in each day as God’s gift.
“… there is nothing better … than to be happy and to do good while [we] live.” (Ecclesiastes 3:12)
Meaning does not come from eliminating uncertainty. It comes from embracing life as it is: enigmatic, fleeting, yet infused with God’s goodness.
A Personal Journey
I know something of this struggle.
After my ‘A’ Levels, I prayed for God to open the door He was calling me to, and He led me to medicine and psychiatry. Yet in the grind of medical school and housemanship, I grew weary and disillusioned. I began questioning why I embarked on this journey.
Endless exams. Unrelenting hours. Impossible expectations. Burnt out, I wondered:
Do I have what it takes? Will this always feel like a grind? Why am I doing this at all?
What sustained me in that season were two things: Scripture and community.
A passage from Isaiah anchored me:
“Even youths grow tired and weary … but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.” (Isaiah 40:30–31)
Close friends reminded me of my purpose and calling.
The journey to becoming a psychiatrist was arduous. But today, I find much joy and fulfilment in my work: sitting with an anxious young patient mired in existential crisis; being invited into spaces of suffering to offer hope; helping the depressed rediscover joy. It is a privilege worth every struggle.
Living Under the Son
“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart …. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” (Colossians 3:23–24)
For anyone wrestling with their existence, Ecclesiastes offers hope—not by simplifying life or solving its mysteries, but by unpacking its complexity honestly.
Our identity in Christ means:
We are defined not by what we produce, but by the One who made us.
We are valuable not because we are exceptional, but because we are loved.
Our lives, fleeting as a breath, can still be rich with purpose and meaning.
The hymn “The Perfect Wisdom of Our God” sums this up beautifully:
O grant me wisdom from above,
To pray for peace and cling to love,
And teach me humbly to receive
The sun and rain of Your sovereignty.
Each strand of sorrow has a place
Within this tapestry of grace;
So through the trials I choose to say:
“Your perfect will in Your perfect way.”
In an impermanent world of striving and suffering, Ecclesiastes invites us to shift from living for things under the sun to living under the Son. There, we find our ultimate meaning in God’s perfect wisdom and way.
Dr David Teo is a senior consultant psychiatrist at Connections MindHealth, where he works with children, youth, and adults. He has special interests in youth and occupational mental health, neurodivergence, the psychological aspects of medical illness, psychotherapy, and the intersection of spirituality and mental health. He considers his work a privilege and joy, and believes that caring for the whole person—addressing the physical, psychosocial, and spiritual aspects of wellbeing—is key to helping individuals heal and flourish. David previously served over 16 years in Singapore’s public healthcare sector, leading youth and community mental health programmes. He worships at Adam Road Presbyterian Church, where he serves in the Mental Wellness Ministry, and speaks at churches and public forums to promote mental wellness.