Ever since I finished reading East of Eden by John Steinbeck (re-reading it, actually) I have been struggling to put my thoughts down. This book is so rich with food for thought, that I feel I haven’t even begun to digest everything it has to offer, despite reading it twice.
I am quite stumped on where to begin.
First up let me just say, if you haven’t read it, you must. You just must.
I won’t go into the narrative. All I’ll say is, East of Eden is simply about the human struggle between good and evil. And, most importantly, whether we are free to choose which one we become.
Underneath that, is another question: Is there such a thing as objective good and evil? Or is morality subjective—something we construct as individuals and societies? But I’ll get to that in a moment.
Steinbeck starts out rather simply, calling one of his characters, Cathy, a monster. She seems to be someone without compunction, without kindness or conscience. And then, when Cathy has twins, Steinbeck introduces us to one of the central ideas of the book: timshel, the Hebrew word for ‘thou mayest.’ It suggests that, whatever our nature or inheritance, we have the capacity to choose. We may choose good; we may choose evil. We are not necessarily condemned to become what we have inherited.
Through Cathy’s twins, Aron and Cal, he sets up a contrast. Aron appears to embody goodness, while Cal struggles with the darker impulses. Cal believes he has inherited them from his mother. In moments of weakness, anger or fear, he makes terrible choices, choices that lead to irreparable consequences. And he regrets them. He recognises them, wrestles with them and tries to overcome them. And it is through that struggle that he becomes, perhaps, more real, more fully human.
Through Aron, Steinbeck creates a ‘pure’ character who cannot easily understand or accommodate evil. His need for goodness and perfection leaves little room for imperfection, compassion and forgiveness. In trying to be good, he becomes, ironically, less capable of understanding and forgiving not just others, but also himself.
So then, who is good and what is evil?
As I see it, much of morality is a social construct, right? Think marriage and sexuality, family, our concept of right and wrong – all of that emerges from the social structure that births and shapes us. What might be right (and moral) in one society might be unacceptable in another.
If morality is subjective what makes Cathy a monster? What makes her actions objectively wrong? Or are we only judging her through our own moral lens?
If you have read the book you’ll know that doesn’t sit right at all. (You really have to read the book to know exactly how evil Cathy’s character is).
Perhaps then, there are some fundamental rights and wrongs that are the same across social structures – a universal moral standard, so to say. I like to think of it as the quality that makes us human, something like kindness or compassion, or our ability to recognise another person’s pain and to choose not to cause it – that, to me, is moral and that’s where Cathy fails.
All these are, of course, my own dilemmas. Steinbeck refuses to give a clear answer.
He doesn’t focus on the objectivity of right and wrong. What he does focus on, is the fact that whether we are good or evil is not predetermined. We all come from a certain circumstances, we have impulses and histories, but we also have the freedom to choose what we do with all of that.
And that is one of the most enduring ideas in the book: that goodness isn’t the same as perfection. That being human means having the capacity for both good and evil, and that what matters is what we choose to do with that capacity.
My favourite line from the book is this one:
‘Now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.‘
Steinbeck doesn’t simply want us to ask what is good and what is evil, but to ask what we will choose when both possibilities exist within us.
This has been such an amazing read. It’s long (about 700 pages) but it’s decently paced. It doesn’t drag. So do make time to read it. It will draw you in, I promise.
PS: This was just one thought while reading the book. There is so much more.
PS2: If you’re thinking you can get by simply watching the upcoming Netflix series, I say don’t do that. I was watching an interview of Florence Pugh, who plays Cathy, and she says she wanted to make people sympathise with her character. That got the alarm bells ringing in my head. I don’t think Steinbeck intended for that to happen. Which is why I feel the series might diverge from the book, which doesn’t seem like a good idea. But then that’s just conjecture, I might end up loving it so I’m reserving my judgement (for now). Or it might stand up as a good watch on its own (for non-readers) and I’ll have to be fine with that too.