The Desire of Wages

Introduction - A House of Merchandise

by Dirk Anderson

In one of the most explosive scenes in Ellen White’s The Desire of Ages, Jesus stands at the temple with a scourge of cords in His hand. Below Him, money-changers haggle, cattle traders do business, and what White calls the “speculating priests” turn the worship of God into a marketplace. Then comes the detail that makes this scene especially damning. With “prophetic eye,” Jesus supposedly looks down through the centuries and sees “how the love of God will be concealed from sinners, and men will make merchandise of His grace.”¹ The tables crash to the ground. Coins scatter across the marble. Animals bolt. And the Son of God thunders: “Take these things hence; make not my Father’s house an house of merchandise” (John 2:16).

It is one of the most stirring passages in the book. It is also one of the most devastating indictments ever printed against the enterprise that produced it. For the very woman who put those words on the page presided over a publishing operation in which prophetic writings became commercial property, spiritual authority was used to gain a marketing advantage, and royalties became a source of personal income. Jesus condemned those who made merchandise of God’s grace. The question this book will confront is whether Ellen White’s own publishing empire did precisely that.

Making Merchandise of His Grace

The Bible has a name for those who turn the Word of God into a commercial enterprise. Paul called them peddlers. Writing to the Corinthians, he drew a sharp line between his own ministry and those who used the gospel as a means of personal gain:

Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit (2 Cor. 2:17 NIV).

Paul's word for "peddle," kapeleuontes, was no compliment. It came from the world of the kapelos—the street merchant or huckster who treated his merchandise as a means to make a quick profit. The image carried the suggestion of a trader who compromised the goods to increase his margin. Paul wanted nothing to do with that kind of ministry. He was not in the business of packaging God's message and manipulating it for commercial advantage.

That warning takes on an uncomfortable significance when we examine the publishing enterprise built around Ellen G. White. Here was a woman claiming to receive divine revelations, yet whose writings became the foundation of an extensive commercial operation. Her books were copyrighted, marketed, sold through an international distribution network, and supported by an army of publishing agents. The business generated substantial income for White and, ultimately, her family. This was not simply a matter of printing a few religious pamphlets to spread the gospel. It was a publishing enterprise built around the writings of a woman whose authority rested on the claim that God had given her the message.

Apologists have spent generations presenting White's literary output as the selfless labor of a humble servant of God. But the financial records, publishing contracts, royalty arrangements, and sales operations tell a much more complicated story. Behind the spiritual language stood a business structure with copyrights to protect, books to promote, sales to generate, and royalties to collect. The sacred message had become a commercial product—and the prophet's name was its most valuable selling point.

The problem becomes even more serious when we consider what was being sold. Many of White's books incorporated material drawn from the research and writings of other authors, often without acknowledgment. Historical accounts, commentaries, sermons, and other published works supplied language and information that appeared under her name. Yet these books were not marketed as compilations of other people's research. They were sold to believers as the writings of God's chosen messenger. The copied material was wrapped in the authority of inspiration, packaged under White's name, and sold to an audience that had every reason to believe it was purchasing something uniquely hers.

The contrast with the ordinary believer was striking. While many members of the fledgling SDA sect lived modestly, the prophet's literary output became a source of income and financial wealth.

The ancient huckster diluted his merchandise to increase his profit. In White's publishing enterprise, the work of other writers was absorbed into books sold under the authority of her prophetic name. Their research and prose helped fill the pages but their names disappeared. The resulting books generated revenue for her and her family. That raises a fundamental question of honesty: who supplied the material, who received the credit, and who collected the money?

Paul's warning was not that ministers must never receive financial support. Ellen White was a paid employee of the SDA corporation. No one questions that. Paul's warning was against corrupting the message for personal advantage—turning the gospel into merchandise. That distinction is crucial. The issue is not whether Ellen White was entitled to earn a living. The issue is whether prophetic authority was used to market books containing uncredited material, protect the financial interests of the author and her family, and discourage challenges to the enterprise.

Jesus left no room for confusion about the principle. When He sent out the twelve, He commanded them, “freely ye have received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8). The grace of God is not merchandise.

Follow the Money

For more than a century, SDAs have been taught to regard The Desire of Ages as the finest book ever written on the life of Christ—a masterpiece born of divine visions and penned by a humble prophetess who supposedly sought no financial gain for herself. But follow the money, and that carefully polished image begins to crack. The evidence points to a book assembled with the labor of paid assistants, built in part from the writings of other men, marketed at the highest price its publisher had ever charged, and defended by testimonies invoking the judgment of God against anyone who interfered with its author's royalties. This book was about more than sharing the gospel. It was about building a lucrative brand that would churn out profits for decades.

There is no denying that The Desire of Ages contains passages that have inspired Christians and brought genuine spiritual value to readers. That is not the issue. The issue is what happened behind the scenes: the money, the contracts, the royalties, the plagiarism, and the people who did the work while someone else received all the credit. Strip away the devotional packaging, and a very disturbing picture emerges. It is a story not about the desire of ages, but the desire of wages.

Let the investigation begin!

Brother Anderson