The Red Pony
People lined up outside Ford dealers when the Mustang was released on April 17, 1964. It stoked the desire of millions of Americans – Ford sold more than 600,000 in its first 18 months – in a way that’s hard to understand without first understanding human desire. Desiring pony cars was novel in 1964, but desiring ponies was nothing new.
In 1937, beloved American author John Steinbeck published The Red Pony, an archetypal coming-of-age story. Early in the story, a hard-working farm boy, Jody, is given the object his heart is fixated upon: a red pony. At first, all is well. Jody has been given the desires of his heart. Then, throughout the story’s three parts, Jody is let down by everything he desires and idolizes. This includes the pony, who is gruesomely and traumatically killed.
Growing up in the church, Steinbeck would have heard Jesus’ warning:
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)
Steinbeck devoted most of his writings to people who seemed to grasp this but who surrendered their will to desire anyway. To him, there must have been something so compelling and so human about desire’s ability to override a person’s decision-making ability and hijack their will. Steinbeck’s characters regularly find themselves enslaved by their desire. They risk their lives traveling west in search of a better future (The Grapes of Wrath), to follow orders at all costs, even to the point of conquering peaceful and seemingly feeble neighbors (The Moon Is Down), or to bet a happy life on the prospect of immense wealth (The Pearl).
This struggle is finally given the treatment it deserves in Steinbeck’s extraordinary, ambitious, semi-autobiographical opus, East of Eden. Two characters are discussing the second temptation recorded in the Bible, when Cain is wracked by his desire to feel superior to his brother:
“Then the Lord said to Cain, ‘Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.” (Genesis 4:6-7)
Their discussion centered on the verb used in the last phrase: “You must master it.” The Hebrew word, timshel, could be an imperative: Do this, or else. Or it could be encouragement. As one character in East of Eden explains:
“‘The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin (and you can call sin ignorance). The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word timshel – thou mayest – that gives a choice. For if ‘Thou mayest’ – it is also true that ‘thou mayest not.’ That makes a man great and that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he still has the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.” (“East of Eden,” John Steinbeck)
Perhaps it is both. God, operating out of deep, personal love, doesn’t want to see Cain living in guilt, shame, and isolation from murdering his brother, so he urgently commands him: You must master your desire. Yet within that command is a surprising amount of agency: You have the ability to master your desire. God always offers a way out under the pressure of desire (1 Corinthians 10:14) and promises that no one faces their sinful desire – or any challenge – alone (Matthew 28:20). When you haven’t been strong enough to overcome it, God has forgiven you through Jesus, who suffered through every sinful desire and ultimately overcame its penalty. For you.
God’s urgent warning for humans to manage destructive desire never relents because he knows how convincing it is. From the very first Mustang until now, buyers have bought the hype and desired something more than a car: freedom, expression, identity, power, or that ever-elusive peace of mind. They crouch at your door, but you may overcome them.
One of Steinbeck’s last written works was Travels with Charlie, a stylized travelogue of a westward adventure with his faithful dog in a 1960 GMC pickup truck converted into a camper (which remains on display in the John Steinbeck Museum). He encountered real-life characters in small-town diners across the country, and interacted with them with journalistic curiosity. He seemed to always wonder: What does this person desire? What obstacles do they face? What have they overcome? They’re excellent questions. You could spend some time with them and learn a lot about yourself and the life ahead of you, if that’s what you desire.
