Dear one,
Although he and I are of a different time and generation, John Steinbeck and I grew up in the same town, Salinas, California, and attended the same high school. In 1952, when he published East of Eden, Salinas had undergone the radical, cultural transformations wrought by two world wars, and yet it was still changing, seeking to become a morally upright, middle-class community. Thus the Salinas of my childhood laid little claim to Steinbeck—how could it, when his Salinas, as depicted in East of Eden, was seen, at least in part, from the perspective of a sadomasochistic nymphomaniac and her brothel? Likewise, presumably Steinbeck sought to distance himself from Salinas and its mid-twentieth century morality.
I share these cryptic reflections with you, because, for the fourth time, I recently finished rereading East of Eden. Upon this occasion I did so because I desired to remember the locale of my birth: the black-rich soil and beauty of the Salinas Valley; the scrub oaks, poppies, and lupin; and the “warm” Gabilan Mountains to the east, and the “mysterious” Santa Lucias to the west.[1] But I also wanted to “relive” Steinbeck’s retelling of the Cain-and-Abel story (Genesis 4:1-16), and his emphasis upon the Hebrew word, timshel (מָשַׁל).
In the context of Genesis 4, when Cain’s offering was not accepted, the LORD cautioned him: “[Sin] is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.” For Steinbeck, the operative word is the verb timshel: Does it mean “you must,” “you will,” or “you may” master sin? For him, the preferred rendering is: “you may” master sin. However, I know of no translation which supports his preference; and yet his preference yields a fascinating irony:
In East of Eden Steinbeck observed that we are not only descends of Adam and Eve, but also of their firstborn, Cain. Thus, the Cain-and-Abel story is intended for Cain’s descendants, who, when faced with rejection, might give themselves to anger and/or violence. But if so, what are they to do? According to Steinbeck, they “may” choose to do good, or not, but ironically, the author who regularly explored the darkness of human evil, essentially touted mid-twentieth-century, Salinas morality. If we so choose, we can conquer evil, which is the hope Steinbeck offered. Ah, but without help, can we conquer evil? Human history seems to belie that hope.
Although he rightly observed that we are a mix of good and evil, apparently Steinbeck was unwilling to accept the Apostle Paul’s dilemma and answer:
“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate … I can will what is right, but I cannot do it … Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”[2] (Romans 7:15-25.)
Because he was unwilling, Steinbeck could only offer a wistful “hope.” Nonetheless, I am grateful for his probing, thoughtful portrayals, but sorrow that he found little genuine hope.
Stan
[1] Cf. Chapter 1 of East of Eden.
[2] Cf. Romans 7:15-25.