In both biblical and ancient Greek accounts, work is something of an enigma. Having an aspect of punishment, it is nevertheless a blessing and a gift. For Hesiod the very means of living have been hidden in the soil of the dark earth, only to be retrieved by relentless toil. It is somehow part of a heavenly plan that our livelihood requires much work, ongoing and toilsome.
Work can wear you down; it can even break you. Of necessity it requires an expenditure of energy, energy that in some sense goes forth not to return. Perhaps a sure sign of the passing of youth is when you start to realize: I simply can’t do this forever; there is only so much work in me. It is not a pleasant realization, especially when accompanied by the realization that one’s dependence on work will not cease. Not in this life. But then again, all that I have, even my own ability to work, has been given to me by the work of others. I can be grateful that for some length of time I have the privilege of giving to others through my work. That will come to an end, all in due time.
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