The Genius of Money

Essays & Interviews Reimagining the Financial World

by John Bloom; SteinerBooks, 2009, 192 pgs.; review by John Alexandra

...begging is one of the most unfortunate conditions to which a person can be reduced, yet, in a spiritual or religious context, it is practiced [by Buddhist monks, for example] as a path to enlightenment. In the former, it does not seem to be a preferred choice, instead it is a social consequence. In the latter, the practice is taken as a totally conscious, self-imposed choice.... Both extremes share the quality of a threshold experience that places the beggar at the edge of existence and the gift as a virtuous or spiritual deed and a bridge across that existential chasm.

This insight from the essay “Begging to Differ” gives a taste of the eminently original approach John Bloom takes in his book, The Genius of Money. Exploring paintings by artists ranging from Giotto to Andy Warhol, he looks to works of art for insights both into money itself and into our human attitudes toward it—in this case, exploring begging as a threshold experience through Rembrandt’s “Beggars at the Door” (below).

Rembrandt, “Beggars at the Door”

The book’s introduction presents a significant observation out of Bloom’s work with not-for-profit organizations—he’s director of organizational culture at RSF Social Finance and is also active in developing the Transforming Money Network—that forms a leitmotif for the book, an observation that likely rings true with many a reader:

I have worked in an advisory capacity with many individuals and groups who are passionate about the work they do and who care deeply about what they are accomplishing for the benefit of the world. However, when it came time to address questions about money, salaries, and fees, those same people would enjoin the conversation as if they were a different set of personalities. Something, some inexplicable energy, presented itself as a shadow—passion turned to rancor and distrust, care turned to anxiety.

This strange disconnect between what Bloom calls our public cultural selves and our private money selves became his focus of inquiry: “My money-self…does not seem to be the same self that experiences the transcendence of music or poetry, or searches for social justice in daily affairs. This awareness indicates a rupture in the integrity of my inner landscape that I no longer find acceptable.” He realized that he was now “compelled to work toward a kind of unified aesthetic which recognizes and incorporates that rupture, one that welcomes my money-self as an integral part of my inner landscape.”

The resulting series of essays became a travelogue of the journey launched by this epiphany, exploring the geography of the money landscape from a diversity of perspectives—historical, artistic, spiritual, social—making good on his view that “it is time to look at the hard issues, especially money, in a new way that incorporates spirit and social values.”

The first of its three parts comprises essays on the “poetics of money,” explored primarily (as mentioned) through art. Chapters include such varied topics as: “Free Market Money in a Pop Iconomy,” studied in relation to Roy Lichtenstein’s lithograph Ten Dollar Bill, 1956, and Andy Warhol’s Front and Back Dollar Bills; “Judas’s Dilemma,” examined through Giotto’s 1305 fresco Judas Receiving Payment for His Betrayal; and “The Touchstone and the Labyrinth: A Step into the Mystery of Money, “investigated through the experience of walking a labyrinth. It’s interesting that many labyrinths quickly lead one tantalizingly close to the center, only to find there’s still a long, winding path out and in again before, at long last, really reaching the heart.

Part one continues with “Mercy in Mercantilist Times,” considered through Gabriel Metsu’s 17th century painting Usurer with a Tearful Woman; and “The Other Invisible Hand: Money and Its Subtle Influence on Social Life,” probed in relation to a New York Times article entitled “Just Thinking about Money Can Turn the Mind Stingy.”

The essays in part 2, “A Topography of Financial Transactions,” intend to provide a more cohesive map of the territory Bloom is exploring. They address such varied topics as the role of transparency in transforming the interconnectedness of our financial transactions into real human connections, and economic justice in relation to such topics as fair trade and access to resources. “Culture—For the Price of Admission” probes what you’re really paying for when you buy a concert ticket, and “Consuming Identity” examines the powerful forces that seek to coerce us into seeing our individual identity as defined by our consumer identity. This part concludes with an essay on faith, hope, and love in relation to money.

Part 3 comprises fascinating interviews with nine individuals who are working to transform their own and the world’s money relationships. These include Wangari Maathai who, in 2004, became the first African woman—and the first environmentalist—to receive the Nobel Peace Prize for “her contribution to sustainable development, democracy and peace”; Jacob Needleman, author of Money and the Meaning of Life; Lynne Twist, author of The Soul of Money: Transforming Your Relationship with Money and Life; and Paul Mackay, former banker and currently a member of the executive council of the General Anthroposophical Society in Dornach, Switzerland.

The book doesn’t pretend to be a chapter-by-chapter financial textbook. It is, rather, a collection of aphoristic explorations into the “genius of money,” many of which appeared previously on John Bloom’s weblog ( http://transformingmoney.blogspot.com). I have to confess that this format left me as reader with a certain longing. Much as I appreciate the individual essays, and fully understand the way they’ve arisen, I did find myself wanting to take a deeper and more cohesive journey, to intensify the interesting and colorful forays from the “coastline” to probe the country’s “interior” long and deeply enough to fully experience its unique language and culture.

It may be just the lingering trappings of the accountant-banker in me that want to see alongside Bloom’s beautifully poetic and imaginative imagery a more prosaic presentation of the difficult complexities of money and credit in the present-day world—to delve deeper, for instance, into the significance of abandoning the gold standard (he compares the discarding of a mineral basis for money with the threshold experience of walking a labyrinth). For, despite the problems it clearly brought, disconnecting money from the quantity of gold in Fort Knox also created the possibility of giving money a more spiritual foundation by basing the money supply in credit, in confidence in human capacities—the word credit, after all, comes from the Latin credo, “I believe.” I recognize, of course, that if I were to live with Bloom’s imaginations longer and more meditatively, I might well find this longing for depth met in a different way.

Nevertheless, the book’s many insights will go far toward realizing Bloom’s aim of encouraging and informing a “reimagining” of money through which both individuals and organizations engage in this challenging grapple with the money-self. I’m sure readers will find many rich gems in the pages of The Genius of Money. With its many colored plates on quality paper, it’s also a good-looking—and “good-tasting”—volume, which certainly enhances the reading pleasure.