The Profits of Religion, Fifth Edition — Reading Notes

The Offertory as Methodological Blueprint

The opening pages function as a methodological manifesto. Sinclair declares he has 'searched the libraries through' and found no prior treatment of supernaturalism as an economic phenomenon. This claim of originality is central to his rhetorical strategy: he positions himself as a discoverer of hidden truths rather than a mere critic. The self-publishing choice—'so that it may be available at the lowest possible price'—aligns his distribution method with his anti-profiteering thesis.

The note to the fifth edition is revealing: the book 'has not been changed' since 1917, with only 'a few errors' corrected. This fixity means the World War references predate America's entry, creating a historical snapshot of anti-war sentiment among European clergy. Sinclair's decision to preserve the original text suggests he saw its arguments as timeless, not contingent on later events. The reader should note that the book is the first in a series of 'economic interpretation of culture' volumes, including The Brass Check and The Goose-step, indicating a broader project of institutional critique.

The German Clergy and the War Machine

In the section excerpted from 'King Cotton,' Sinclair pivots from Prussian militarism to American slavery, but the German material stands as a self-contained case study. He quotes multiple pastors—Herr Vorwerk, Reverend S. Lehmann, Pastor K. Koenig, Pastor J. Rump, and an unnamed theological professor—to demonstrate how Protestant clergy sacralized German nationalism. The most striking example is Vorwerk's hymn, which Sinclair renders as 'Cherubinen, Seraphinen, Zeppelinen,' a pun that reduces divine protection to a military inventory.

Sinclair's method here is to let the quotations condemn themselves. He offers little commentary beyond framing them as 'the great masterpiece of humor of the war.' The effect is cumulative: each successive quote escalates the claim, from 'Germany is the center of God's plans' to 'Our defeat would mean the defeat of His Son in humanity.' Sinclair does not argue that these views were universal, but he implies they were representative enough to warrant exposure. The reader should note that the excerpts break off before Sinclair provides counter-evidence or analysis of the German church's institutional structure.

King Cotton and the Transformation of Scripture

The 'King Cotton' section offers the most concrete economic argument in the excerpts. Sinclair traces a direct line from Eli Whitney's cotton gin (1793) to the reversal of Presbyterian anti-slavery resolutions. In 1818, the Presbyterian General Assembly unanimously declared slavery 'utterly inconsistent with the law of God'; within a generation, Southern pulpits were preaching from 'Cursed be Canaan.' Sinclair's point is not that theology changed, but that economic interests reshaped biblical interpretation.

He supports this with statistics: cotton production rose from 4,000 bales in 1791 to 5,400,000 in 1860. The monarch 'King Cotton' hired 'the ministers of God to teach that what he wanted was right and holy.' Sinclair quotes Bishop Hopkins's 'Bible View of Slavery' to show how the Curse of Canaan was used to justify racial servitude. He also notes that Northern elites in Massachusetts and New York were complicit, as 'their fathers owed their power to Slavery.' The excerpts end before Sinclair develops this Northern critique, but the pattern is clear: economic interest corrupts religious authority regardless of region.

Rhetorical Strategies and Evidentiary Gaps

Sinclair's prose is characterized by a blend of muckraking specificity and sweeping generalization. He names individuals (William Lloyd Garrison, Parker Pillsbury, Bishop Hopkins) and cites texts ('Bible View of Slavery'), but the excerpts do not include footnotes or page references. The reader must trust Sinclair's selection of evidence, as the original sources are not reproduced. His tone oscillates between indignation and irony, as when he asks of the Southern clergy: 'Had the 'law of God' been altered? Had some new 'revelation' been handed down?'

The book's structure—six 'Books' subdivided into short chapters—suggests a cumulative argument rather than a linear narrative. The table of contents lists topics as varied as 'Prayer-wheels,' 'Hell-fire,' 'Bishops and Beer,' and 'Birth Control,' indicating a wide-ranging attack. However, the excerpts only cover two sections (the German war clergy and King Cotton), leaving the reader to infer how Sinclair connects these to the broader thesis. The 'Offertory' promises 'the facts,' but the excerpts reveal a polemicist who selects facts to fit a predetermined framework.

Readers approaching The Profits of Religion should attend to how Sinclair constructs his case through juxtaposition: a pastor's hymn, a bishop's exegesis, a cotton production statistic. The book rewards those who check his sources and consider counterarguments, as his evidence is partial and his tone relentlessly adversarial. The fifth edition's unchanged text offers a window into 1917 radical thought, but its claims about religion as a 'shield to privilege' remain provocative precisely because they resist easy verification or dismissal.

I remember sitting in my grandmother’s armchair, her Bible open but unread on the table, and thinking how strange it was that certainty felt so heavy. This book made me recall that weight, the way Sinclair traces belief’s entanglement with power. The Necessity of Atheism — A Reader’s Guide once gave me that same quiet, unsettling feeling—like watching a curtain shift in a still room.