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By Edward Curtin

“One also knows from his letters that nothing appeared more sacred to Van Gogh than work.” John Berger, “Vincent Van Gogh,” Portraits

Ever since I was a young boy, I have wondered why people do the kinds of work they do.  I sensed early on that the economic system was a labyrinthine trap devised to imprison people in work they hated but needed for survival.  It seemed like common sense to a child when you simply looked and listened to the adults around you.  Karl Marx wasn’t necessary for understanding the nature of alienated labor; hearing adults declaim “Thank God It’s Friday” spoke volumes.

In my Bronx working class neighborhood, I saw people streaming to the subway in the mornings for their rides “into the city” and their forlorn trundles home in the evenings. It depressed me.  Yet I knew the goal was to “make it” and move away as one moved “up,” something that many did.  I wondered why, when some people had options, they rarely considered the moral nature of the jobs they pursued.  And why did they not also consider the cost in life (time) lost in their occupations?  Were money, status, and security the deciding factors in their choices?  Was living reserved for weekends and vacations?

I gradually realized that some people, by dint of family encouragement and schooling, had opportunities that others never received.  For the unlucky ones, work would remain a life of toil and woe in which the search for meaning in their jobs was often elusive.  Studs Terkel, in the introduction to his wonderful book of interviews, Working: People Talk About What They Do all Day and How They Feel About What They Do, puts it this way:

This book, being about work, is, by its very nature, about violence – to the spirit as well as to the body.  It is about ulcers as well as accidents, about shouting matches as well as fistfights, about nervous breakdowns as well as kicking the dog around.  It is, above all (or beneath all), about daily humiliations. To survive the day is triumph enough for the walking wounded among the great many of us.

Those words were confirmed for me when in the summer between high school and college I got a job through a relative’s auspices as a clerk for General Motors in Manhattan.  I dreaded taking it for the thought of being cooped up for the first time in an office building while a summer of my youth passed me by, but the money was too good to turn down (always the bait), and I wanted to save as much as possible for college spending money.  So I bought a summer suit and joined the long line of trudgers going to and fro, down and up and out of the underground, adjusting our eyes to the darkness and light.

It was a summer from hell. My boredom was so intense it felt like solitary confinement.  How, I kept wondering, can people do this?  Yet for me it was temporary; for the others it was a life sentence.  But if this were life, I thought, it was a living death.  All my co-workers looked forward to the mid-morning coffee wagon and lunch with a desperation so intense it was palpable.  And then, as the minutes ticked away to 5 P.M., the agitated twitching that proceeded the mad rush to the elevators seemed to synchronize with the clock’s movements.  We’re out of here!

On my last day, I was eating my lunch on a park bench in Central Park when a bird shit on my suit jacket.  The stain was apt, for I felt I had spent my days defiling my true self, and so I resolved never to spend another day of my life working in an office building in a suit for a pernicious corporation, a resolution I have kept.

“An angel is not far from someone who is sad,” says Vincent Van Gogh in the new film, At Eternity’s Gate. For some reason, recently hearing these words in the darkened theater where I was almost alone, brought me back to that summer and the sadness that hung around all the people that I worked with.  I hoped Van Gogh was right and an angel visited them from time to time. Most of them had no options.

The painter Julian Schnabel’s moving picture (moving on many levels since the film shakes and moves with its hand-held camera work and draws you into the act of drawing and painting that was Van Gogh’s work) is a meditation on work.  It asks the questions: What is work?  What is work for?  What is life for?  Why paint? What does it mean to live?  Why do you do what you do?  Are you living or are you dead?  What are you seeking through your work?

For Vincent the answer was simple: reality.  But reality is not given to us and is far from simple; we must create it in acts that penetrate the screens of clichés that wall us off from it.

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I’ve been mesmerized and confused by “prosperity gospel” (PG) sermons for decades. Twenty years before the phrase came into use to describe them, I wondered about the supposedly direct relationship between the Gospel and prosperity so boldly proclaimed by PG preachers.

Though most of PG’s heyday, I had not yet mined the depths of the Biblical text. I was unarmed and unable to refute or affirm the Biblical references placed at the bottom of the screen during these sermons. Did they prove the relationship between the Bible and prosperity, or did they merely proof-text long enough to separate believers from their tithe?

Blessed” provides history about, but no answers to such questions. It leaves the Bible unopened, provides the facts, and risks only tentative opinions on the so-called prosperity Gospel. The book is no more and no less than “A History of the American Prosperity Gospel.” The history comes in a series of newswire-like reports on the preachers, events, and relationships associated with this Pentecostal offshoot “movement.”

The Bible is Unopened

The Bible remains unopened in the author’s historical exploration. Except for quoting a preachers use of a Biblical verse, there is no exegesis or comment on some PG tenet or another.

Just the Facts

If you read a string of newswire reports about the Viet Nam war, you might form opinions about it. However, except for the editorial choices of which stories to cover and which to leave unreported, newswire services are not (or shouldn’t be) in the business of providing opinions. Likewise, except for a few tentative views at the end of the book, neither does “Blessed” offer those of the author on her subject.

The Deification of the American Dream

The exception to the opinion-less nature of “Blessed” comes at the end of the book when the author comments that the prosperity gospel is “the deification of the American dream.”

The point is offered and then only partially made by the author. Counterpoint questions such as, “But, didn’t the advances that made the dream possible stem naturally from a new nation adhering, however briefly, to Judeo-Christian principles and values?” are not posed or answered.

A Paradox for the Reader to Untangle

If there’s any truth at the heart of the prosperity gospel, it will have something in common with all great truths: paradox. That discovery might begin with questions neither asked nor answered in “Blessed”:

  • What is the relationship, if any, between the Gospel and human prosperity?
  • How could salvation of the lost have nothing, whatsoever, to do with human flourishing?

Every believer with a heartbeat might have an opinion on such questions. But, what is the truth contained in the Biblical text? What might a believer seeking the whole counsel of God, conclude? Have some, or all, of these prosperity gospel preachers been fleecing the sheep or does the fulfillment of one or more of the missions of Jesus Christ involve prosperity and believers?

Blessed” neither poses nor answers, such questions. For those interested in forming their own opinion, however, the history documented in the book provides an informed place to start.

I wanted to get more out of “Blessed” by sharpening my thoughts and confronting any scriptural tensions between prosperity and the Gospel. But the book is subtitled as history, so the fault is mine for bringing those expectations to it. Perhaps the author will build on this book and dive into the heart of the matter (the paradox?) in a future work.