“Paradise Opens on Sundays” — Essay by Ivo do Carmo on the Work of Jorge da Cruz

“Paradise Opens on Sundays”An Analysis of the Work of Jorge da Cruz
Ivo do Carmo

“And on the seventh day He rested from all His work.”
Genesis 2:2

1.

At the beginning of this millennium, stripped of literary utopias and nostalgic paradises, the soul is left with no other eschatological hope than the happy narratives of tourism, in the context of our thrilling consumer society.

In just a few lines, I would say that this society was essentially characterized in Max Weber’s work The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, where we find the theses that combine the redemption of souls with social prosperity. This relationship between salvation and wealth—rarely devoid of promiscuous overtones—is at the very core of the concept of work.

The expiation of time through labor, and labor as a site of discovery and experience of God’s gift, is based on the dignification of man through social recognition. Human finitude is thus sublimated through the social and eschatological mission of work.

A society that develops around the concept of work as the elevation of the soul must therefore construct a plausible horizon of meaning for paradise. However, if in the past heaven and celestial metaphors formed part of eschatological semantics, today that paradigm is powerless in comparison with the redemptive power of leisure and tourism, which reproduce heavenly miracles here on Earth.

Beautiful words like “heaven,” “paradise,” “dream,” or “delight” are now part of the vocabulary of the tourism industry, offering seductive promises to those who have the privilege of leisure time.

Leisure (licere), from the Latin meaning “to be permitted,” expresses a legitimate and deserved form of free time. Distinct from idleness, leisure is an otium cum dignitate, as the elites of modernity liked to stress—a public permission to be alienated from work. Thus, only someone recognized within the working society can truly enjoy leisure.

The other kind of time—idleness and far niente—is pernicious, as it reveals the soul’s decline, orphaned of talent and condemned to the poison of passing hours. In a society of workers—even when work is no longer necessary or useful—unemployment becomes the epiphany of a class of the damned, forsaken by God, for whom the idle drift of the days is a Dantean visitation to the infernal circles of the underworld.

It should come as no surprise, then, to claim that tourism has replaced heaven. It is through tourism’s various narratives and devices that the concept of paradise becomes intelligible and believable in the contemporary world.

Whether a tropical beach or a mountain, a hotel suite or an eco-bungalow, a cruise ship or a desert crossing, a nature park or a casino lounge—all these touristic brochures appeal to a dream of the soul. And in the glimpse of this kaleidoscope of sensual and happy images, the soul finds itself separated from its chimera by a ticket or a postcard.

The analogy between tourism and paradise goes far beyond allegorical affinity. It is worth noting that the word “paradise” comes from the Persian pairidaeza, meaning simply “walled enclosure.”

Let us imagine a wondrous wall enclosing a lush garden, where majestic beasts roam among exotic vegetation. We see fountains and lakes, statues and topiaries, and within this enclosure of prosperity, princes, ambassadors, noble soldiers, and illustrious travelers stroll or hunt in their leisure time.

These primordial paradises are not so different from modern-day tourist resorts. The ideals of exclusivity, well-being, and refinement are the earthly privileges of heaven, bestowed upon the soul of the taxpayer.

For all these reasons, the tourist represents a privileged class: because they are mobile, because they enjoy the sensualities of life, and most of all, because they cast themselves as the protagonists of a happy narrative.

2.

Of all these things we spoke—Jorge and I.
I went searching for words. He captured images.

Then we realized: his images contained my words, and my words were shaped by his images.

In a synergy of shared intuition, I watched paradise transform into his construction site.

On that site, I saw Jorge measuring, sawing, painting, destroying, experimenting—and creating paradise.

Through this work of his, now publicly revealed, I was able to better understand—and believe in—my own work.

Thank you.

Ivo do Carmo