Mice, Men, and the Eyes of God

Looking for Meaning in Steinbeck's Masterpiece

I am, fundamentally, a moralist. I do not mean by this that I attempt to educate, lecture, or pontificate on morals (although I have been known to do so on occasion), but rather that I take the idea of right and wrong very seriously. The question I raise most often is “what is the right thing to do?” Imbedded in this approach is the assumption of objective values and some higher meaning to reality.

This tend to reveal itself in the fiction that I enjoy. I like virtue and vice on clear display, I like worlds that have depth and deeper meaning to them and I have never been offended by the Happy Ending. If I am not given a happy ending, then give me the heroes outnumbered ten to one, dying valiantly for a noble but lost cause. The tendency to dismiss overt moral-stances in fiction as bad is, I think, overstated. The very best fiction, From Tolkien and Lewis to Dickens and Dostoevsky, all emerge from a strong moral center and a preoccupation with morality as a whole.

All of this results in a strong distaste for fiction that lacks a moral center. Stories that are nihilistic and bleak for their own sake, that seem to advocate meaninglessness, and a moral vacuum are not things I prefer to read, save as a bit of morbid curiosity. This brings us to the topic of the essay: What is the point of reading John Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men”?

When I ask “What is the point,” I should clarify my meaning. I do not mean “Why is this book an essential element of the American Canon of literature.” The reasons for that are obvious. It is masterfully written, depicting character and theme in a brilliant way. It is depicting a moment in American History of great significance, reflecting on the reality of the Great Depression. It has had a sizeable cultural impact, being frequently adapted for stage and screen, and its characters and plot becoming part of the cultural background of the United States. I am not questioning its greatness as a work. The question I am wrestling with is more specific: What is the point of myself, and those who share my attitude towards morality, meaning, and fiction, of reading it?

At first blush, Steinbeck’s classic seems to be exactly that sort of story. There is no sense of higher meaning or purpose, no moral structure seems to undergird its world, and its narrator passes over the actions of its character, both virtues and vices, without comment. The only thing that seems to underly the story is a sense of doom. You get the sense that we are witnessing a series of dominos, fated to fall into tragedy that is, ultimately, no ones fault.

Despite this, I think Of Mice and Men is worth reading, even for a stodgy moralist such as myself.

In the first place, we must acknowledge the value in the art of the text itself. The prose and dialogue are arresting and flow like clear water. Steinbeck’s ability to reveal character is masterful and his use of foreshadowing effective. A particular stroke of genius is his intention slowing down after dramatic moments, letting the scene linger on moments that otherwise would have been skipped over. It forces the reader to sit in the reality of the situation, creating strange moments of peacefulness amid the darkness. Even if there was no further value to be gained from the text, it may well be worth reading for the opprotunity to sit in the presence of a masterful storyteller.

Beyond this, we may be mistaken about the nature of the text, or at least the nature of the author. Contrasting Mice and Men with his tremendous East of Eden, we find two seemingly very different authors at work. While Eden maintains a commitment to a realistic and often grim look at human nature, it is nonetheless a work with a firm moral center. The entire story turns on the question of freedom of choice, and whether or not we have the power to choose in spite of our circumstances. Dominos are in play in both stories, but we get the sense in Eden that we at least get a say in how the Dominos fall. I would need a greater grasp of Steinbeck’s work as a whole to render any judgement on his overall vision, but the apparent conflict between the world of Mice and Men and the World of East of Eden give me, at the very least, the leeway to consider a moral reading of the tale than I otherwise might.

Even if there is no greater meaning or purpose explicit in the text, there are clearly values being represented. In his journal, Steinbeck once commented that, “In every bit of honest writing in the world there is a base theme. Try to understand men, if you understand each other, you will be kind to each other. Knowing a man well never leads to hate and nearly always leads to love. There are shorter means, many of them. There is writing promoting social change, writing punishing injustice, writing in celebration of heroism, but always that base theme. Try to understand each other.”¹ This sense of empathy is, to me, the primary feeling I get reading the book. What we are given is a photograph, a snapshot, a slice of reality as it is perceived by those who are living it. Virtue exists, though only in a complicated relationship with self-preservation. Vice exists more strongly, and its wickedness is harder to condemn in the context of the oppressions and cruelties the characters endure. Both vice and cruelty have their explanations here, and if the opportunity is given, if a shred of hope is offered, innocence remains. Crooks, who has been rejected by the other farmhands and built a wall for himself to protect against racial prejudice, lowers his guard when Lenny, in his ignorance, crashes through the wall and offers friendship. He is intimidated back into submission by the cruelty of Curly’s wife, but her cruelty is fueled by the mistreatment she has received and the hopes that have been dashed. Even Curly, the least sympathetic character in the whole story, can be seen to be lashing out due to his own feelings of inferiority, reinforced by his wife’s flirtatious behavior (itself, unknown to him, a product of his failure to be a good husband.) The story is a set of interlocking failures to try and understand one another, and thus a failure to love one another.

Reading about these people provides a sort of solace, if not true consolation. We can see our pain in these people, and know that we are not alone. We can also, here in the safety between the pages, recognize pain in others we might miss in our regular life. The benefit of sitting with these characters, watching their pain, learning about their dreams, is that it expands our souls. It grows our capacity to feel for the pain of our fellow human beings, stirring up coals of compassion that can easily be stifled. This alone makes the text worth reading.

Of Mice and Men lets us slip inside other peoples skin, feel the ground under their feet, and think with their thoughts. We are freed from our own limited perspective for a moment. I am freed, even, from my own insistence of seeing the universe as a moral plane. I can engage in what Steinbeck called “is thinking” or “non-teleological thinking,” I can see the tragedy as “Something That Happened.”² This isn’t a pleasant experience, but it is a valuable one. Most of our lives are made up of “Things that Happen,” and we certainly cannot understand their greater significance while they are happening.

Perhaps it is because we just celebrated Easter, but I find myself drawing a theological connection as I conclude my thoughts. Reading Of Mice and Men shows us a collection of lonely, wounded souls, desperate for connection and healing. We see their flaws, sometimes profound evil in their hearts, but also their innocence and hopes. I can’t help but draw an analogy to how God must see us. God must know what it is like inside our own heads, and the God of the Scriptures, who has united Himself forever to human nature, knows better still. If we, in our limited and sinful humanity, are moved by the disappointments, sorrows, and mistreatment of these characters inhabiting this fictional ranch, how much more does God have compassion for us?

The world is full of Lennys, innocent in soul who keep breaking things by mistake. It is full of George’s, who struggle to do the right thing as the world beats them down. It is full of Crooks’, who have tried to give up on hope only to come crawling back to it again and again. It is full of Curlys and their wives, whose mutual dysfunction damns them both. This is a portrait of the world, an unflinching depiction of the reality of human suffering. It depicts it as so many of us experience it: hopeless, without rhyme or reason.

But this world without reason is the world the Logos, Reason Himself, entered into. The one who made the world stepped into its apparently blind cruelty and took the full brunt of it. Suffering remains, but God himself has felt it. Among all the innocents like Lenny who suffer, Christ stands. Before all of those who stumble and fall into their own cruelty and vices, Christ stands as the one who has procided the way out.

The world we live in often feels and looks very much like the one we find in Of Mice and Men. And that world is true, so far as it goes. But we have a profound gift in being able to see beyond the covers of the book. Within the pages is failure, suffering, and the grave. Just beyond the pages lies the empty tomb.

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1. Sourced from Susan Shillinglaw’s introduction of the 1994 Penguin Classics Edition of “Of Mice and Men.”

2. ibid.