Crimes of the Common Core

The Standard of Liberty Voice
For God,Religion,Family,Freedom
A publication of The Standard of Liberty Foundation
www.standardofliberty.org
April 13, 2015, #82

Steinbeck's East of Eden: Between a Church and a Whorehouse
Book Review by Janice Graham

Janice Graham
Sandy L. Vogel
English 2520
March 27, 2008

Steinbeck’s East of Eden: Between a Church and a Whorehouse

John Steinbeck invites us into his heart by deliberately establishing himself as narrator and guide in his novel, East of Eden. We learn what he thinks are the most important problems man faces and what his core beliefs are. Many readers come away thinking of Steinbeck as a highly religious and spiritual person. But I submit that Steinbeck’s work is written from a secular humanist, rather than a truly religious, point of view. In this instance by secular humanism I am referring to the belief that man is the powerful central figure of his own existence, that God, if He exists at all, is not a player in the human drama, and that man can redeem himself from his errors. By religious I mean the opposite. Because Steinbeck refers to the Bible, I will use Christianity as my religious basis, which holds that God is the central figure of human existence, that man can discover his relationship with God, and that man cannot save himself in an eternal sense.

It’s easy to see how readers could conclude that Steinbeck was a deeply spiritual or religious person, albeit unorthodox. He uses the Bible for his novel’s title and theme; it is understood that the Bible is the instruction manual for Christianity. In addition, he discusses heavy topics that seem to be religious in nature: good and evil, right and wrong, virtues and vices. However, Bible stories can be adopted as myths by unbelieving moralists and the above topics can be, and often are, approached as purely moral issues without any real belief in or reliance on the supernatural, and without any thought of where the standard for morality comes from.

Human nature has a tendency to forget or dismiss the idea of a Supreme Being. This is understandable, partly because man accomplishes a great deal of good on his own. Steinbeck seems to be saying that all you have to do to be a good person is go through the right motions. At the risk of reading too much into it, perhaps this point can be illustrated using the funny scene when Adam bought the new Ford, through the antics of the self-important, tobacco-chewing young mechanic, Joe (whose real name is Roy). After Joe derides Adam for neglecting to study the instruction manual, he explains to his bewildered audience the intricacies of the internal combustion engine, warning of the dangers of losing arms and thumbs if his instructions aren’t followed to the letter. He talks of pushing do-hickeys, grabbing cranks, and pulling wires, and of compression, sparks, gas, and coil boxes, and of retarding, advancing, sucking, choking, spinning, and flooding, “and there you are (423).” And much to the consternation of Adam, Lee, and the boys, all that falderal is just to start the engine! Throughout the book I hear this same theme, that if we’ll just follow instructions, however insanely complicated, we can overcome evil and make the right choices in the big moments.

I don’t mean to say that going through the right motions is not a good thing. I applaud Steinbeck for pointing out that doing good can certainly get your car going, as in living a good life. Indeed, goodness, our own or others’, often brings its own rewards. We experience positive consequences when we choose for ourselves to overcome weaknesses. As Lee says of Samuel, “He loved a celebration of the human soul. Such things were like a personal triumph to him” (413). The human soul is certainly to be immeasurably valued, but much more is required of the pilgrim on a truly spiritual journey. A real believer does not merely go through the right motions, but tries to do the right things for the best reasons. He relies chiefly on God and gives Him all the glory.

I notice that throughout the book, man, not God, is glorified. “I feel that man is a very important thing– maybe more important than a star . . . always attacked and never destroyed,” says Lee, adding, “think of the glory of choice! That makes a man a man (350).” Contrarily, a real Christian is obligated not to forget who made man, who made the universe, and who gave man that glorious ability to choose. Humble gratitude toward a supernatural intelligence is perhaps the most basic and essential distinction between secular humanism and true religiosity, a distinction that seems to be missing in East of Eden.

One of my reasons for thinking Steinbeck’s work lacks spiritual depth comes straight from his Chinese character, Lee; I often thought of Lee as the author’s alter ego. Lee is continually portrayed as the deep, searching, scholarly sage who has as many answers as are possible or needed. Interestingly, as far back as Confucius, a prevailing Chinese belief is that man is essentially good if he’ll only face down his demons and get in touch with that innate goodness. As I understand it, according to pagan Chinese belief there is no need for divine redemption; man can save himself if he only will, and the abstract reward is goodness itself. Christian belief differs from the ancient Chinese in asserting that man is fallen in nature and only something perfectly good outside himself (a divine Savior, Christ) can redeem him, and his reward will be something much greater than anything that can come from his own goodness. Steinbeck’s views seem to follow the Chinese more closely than the Christian. According to Steinbeck, what matters most is how others will remember us after we are dead. “Was his life good or was it evil? . . . Was he loved or was he hated? Is his death a loss or does a kind of joy come of it? (476).” These are Steinbeck’s definitions of a life well-lived. But to the true follower of Christ, any shining legacy one leaves for other human beings is not the ultimate goal. The applause of the world pales to nothing compared to humbly seeking to do God’s will out of love for Him and His children, as seen in Christ’s own life.

Steinbeck’s references to the Bible, while simultaneously criticizing the practice of religion, invites further scrutiny. I find soft jabs through the character of Liza, Samuel’s wife. Liza is portrayed as devoutly religious, strong but inflexible, rather unfeeling and inhuman especially in contrast to her personable and compassionate husband. Then there is the profane parrot that appears near the end of Liza’s life. I ask myself why Liza would keep such a pet, in her bedroom no less, and surmise that Steinbeck secretly wanted her to get her just deserts. People who are not truly religious sometimes tend to mock those who are, labeling them self-righteous when they may not be self-righteous at all, only trying their best in their own way to apply their beliefs. Another example of Steinbeck’s criticism of religion is when Aron has his churchy phase. Steinbeck presents Aron’s leaning toward religion and purity as obnoxious, as in his bumbling efforts to convert Cal, and even hurtful to Abra who told Cal, “He couldn’t have any other story. So he tore up the world. It’s the same way he tore me up . . . when he wanted to be a priest (662).”

Granted, religious people can overdo it, and do a lot of damage in the process. Because of human failings churches may well end up doing the opposite of what they are intended to do. That’s why it’s so important, and only fair, to separate religious doctrines and principles from the people who attempt to practice and evangelize them. As such, it seems rather a stretch when Steinbeck compares the church and the whorehouse. While I agree that the honesty of the brothel may be refreshing compared to hypocrisy in the church, Steinbeck goes farther, painting the brothel, like some outlandish piece of modern art, as the purer of the two. “While the churches, bringing the sweet smell of piety for the soul, came in prancing and farting like brewery horses in bock-beer time, the sister evangelism [the brothels], with release and joy for the body crept in silently and grayly, with its head bowed and its face covered (250).” And, “Indeed, if after hearing the ecstatic shrieks of climactic conversion [in the churches] . . . you had stood under the window of a whorehouse and listened to the low decorous voices, you would have been likely to confuse the identities of the two ministries (250).” His comparison is clever but his characterization of the church is strained and stereotyped.

Even as I attempt to point out that Steinbeck may not have been a believer, I do not mean to imply that he was not a decent and striving human being. He was an outspoken moralist at a time when the world was showing prominent signs of turning away from goodness and God, which I think was a brave and important effort. My problem is that he doesn’t give us a good enough reason why we should do good, neither does he explore the highest motivations possible. His reasons seem to be entirely self-involved, such as, so we can be peaceful and happy and pleased with ourselves, perhaps leave a nice legacy of integrity and close human relations, as we see in Samuel’s life. He writes that there is “one story in the world, and only one (475),” that of man struggling against evil. Those are nice reasons and that’s a fine story, but both stop short of a loftier ideal, one beyond self-satisfaction and sociology. I think there are better reasons, better motivations, and a much bigger story. These have to do with altruism, the bigger story being selfless sacrifice, represented in Christ. He voluntarily laid down his life for all mankind whether or not any would accept his gift, and gave all the glory to God the Father.

I understand that those who do not value Christianity may perceive my argument as superfluous. Nevertheless, because deeply-held religious convictions about God and man’s relationship to Him have been and remain central to the lives of countless intelligent and clear-thinking human beings, including some of the greatest thinkers the world has ever known, I think my argument is a valid one. Steinbeck’s secular humanism only goes so far. It promotes a shallow, temporal, self-serving type of “goodness” but it doesn’t help us reach our full potential as beings created in the image of God.
In East of Eden, I found Steinbeck stuck between the church and the whorehouse. He criticizes religious instruction but condemns evil. He sees what must be done, but does not show us how to do it except by mechanical human will. Still, for very strong people will power may be enough. They may be like Samuel whom everyone loved. They may be like Tom who “used small sins almost like virtues to save himself (469).” They may be like Lee who thought without Adam’s forgiveness Cal could never be free. And yet Samuel rapidly declined after the untimely death of a beloved daughter, Tom took his own life, and we know there will be much more the brooding, impulsive Cal will have to endure.

For those who need and want something beyond what they can do for others, beyond what human beings can give them, and beyond this often difficult and decidedly ephemeral existence, religion is the answer. These are people who do not believe our only option is toward secular humanism, that is, to grit our teeth, go through what seem to be the right motions, and hopefully end up worthy of human praise. They exercise faith in a power much higher than man. Steinbeck may have glimpsed this concept when toward the end of his novel he says through the patient sage, Lee, “Maybe the knowledge is too great and maybe men are growing too small (619).”

Works Cited
Steinbeck, John, East of Eden, Bantam Books, New York, 1974.

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