“Guys like us, that work on ranches are the loneliest guys in the world.” George continued, “They got no family. They don’t belong no place. They come to a ranch an’ work up a stake and then they go inta town and blow their stake, and the first thing you know they’re poundin’ their tail on some other ranch. They ain’t got nothing to look ahead to.”
Lennie was delighted. “That’s it—that’s it. Now tell how it is with us.”
George went on. “With us it ain’t like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us. We don’t have to sit in no bar room blowin’ in our jack jus’ because we got no place else to go. If them other guys gets in jail they can rot for all anybody gives a damn. But not us.”
Lennie broke in. “But not us! An’ why? Because…because I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that’s why.” He laughed delightedly. “Go on now, George!”
John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men is a powerful depiction of the human need for a hope and a future. When I first read the novel in high school, it left me feeling sad, but I couldn’t remember the details. Reading it again on a recent flight, I was unprepared for the flood of emotions.
What struck me as I read the book this time was the human need for a hope and a future. Without hope, life becomes unendurable. Over and over again, Lennie asks George to tell him how their future will be. Patiently, George describes the dream: a small piece of land where they can live off the “fatta the lan’,” work a reasonable amount, and enjoy simple pleasures. They’ll have cows, pigs, chickens, and rabbits—Lennie’s favorite part. They’ll be free to do as they please, without asking anyone for permission.
Lennie knows this dream by heart, yet he insists that George tell it again and again, like a child wanting to hear their favorite bedtime story. What’s remarkable is that each time George shares the vision, he becomes animated too. Though he starts reluctantly, he ends up swept up in the dream’s power. Without that shared hope, what else did they have? As George reminds Lennie, they’re not like other ranch workers who earn their $50 a month and squander it just as quickly. Unlike the others, they have each other, and that makes all the difference.
The alternative is bleakly depicted through Candy’s old dog. In the language of the book, “the dog weren’t no good no more.” It was shot to spare it from a miserable life. Candy, lying on his bed, knows all too well that he will soon share the same fate. After losing his hand in a ranch accident, his usefulness is dwindling. When he overhears George and Lennie talking about their dream, a spark of hope ignites within him. He has some savings and offers to help make their dream a reality. Suddenly, like George and Lennie, he finds purpose in the vision of a shared future.
Later, Lennie wanders into the room of Crooks, the Black stable hand. Crooks is excluded from the bunkhouse due to his race, suffering an intense loneliness. For a brief moment, Lennie’s company allows him to open up. Lennie and Candy share the dream with Crooks, who dares to ask if there would be room for someone like him on their farm. But the harsh reality of his status soon crushes his hope, and he withdraws his request to protect himself from the inevitable disappointment.
Curley’s wife is another tragic figure in the story. She remains unnamed throughout the novel, a reflection of her isolation and lack of identity. She tells the men she could have been something, but marriage to the abusive Curley has trapped her in a lonely existence on the ranch. Her desperate desire for connection ultimately leads her to a fatal encounter with Lennie. It is clear that her need for companionship would have driven her to take risks with other men, possibly leading to the same tragic outcome. Her story is one without hope or a future.
Once Lennie accidentally kills Curley’s wife, his future ends too. George meets him by the river, where Lennie had been told to hide if he got into trouble. As the lynch mob approaches, George tells Lennie the dream one last time. It is the final thing Lennie hears. Although his future is gone, he dies with hope in his heart.
I haven’t read literary criticisms of Of Mice and Men, so I don’t know exactly what Steinbeck intended, but I came away with a profound sense of our need for hope and a future, as well as a companion to share that hope with. Without these, we are as good as dead. Considering the epidemic of loneliness and despair in today’s world, it’s a wonder the suicide rates aren’t even higher. How do people survive without hope or a friend to share it with?
This brings to mind the promise of the gospel and the mission of the church. When God’s people were in exile in Babylon, they had every reason to lose hope. Their temple was destroyed, and they were under the rule of a powerful empire. Yet God spoke through the prophet Jeremiah: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope” (Jer. 29:11). Shortly after, he continues, “Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears, for there is a reward for your work, declares the LORD, and they shall come back from the land of the enemy. There is hope for your future, declares the LORD, and your children shall come back to their own country” (Jer. 29:16-17). God assured them that Babylon was not the end, and that a restored future awaited them.
In the New Testament, we see that it’s not just the people of Judah living in exile; in a sense, we are too. This world, as it is now, is not our true home. Sin separates us from God, each other, and the world as it was meant to be. But God has set a vision before us—a world where sin is no more, where people do not mistreat one another, where we all have a plot of ground to work and a fig tree to sit under. It’s a vision much like George’s for Lennie. It’s a promise we share with all who trust in Christ, who has rescued us from sin’s grip and will one day eradicate it entirely.
Like Lennie, we need to hear this story again and again, even if we know it by heart. When we remind one another of the hope that awaits us, our hearts are reignited, just as George’s was. As we journey through this life, we are not like others who labor only to waste what they earn. We are storing up treasure in heaven. Unlike George and Lennie, who relied on Candy’s contribution to make their dream possible, our future has been fully secured by Christ’s generosity. We cannot add to it; we can only live in gratitude for what he has accomplished, sharing the vision with all who will listen.
Brothers and sisters, let’s hold tightly to the hope and future set before us. To do so, we must remind each other often of the vision that will one day be reality. But let’s not keep this good news a secret. There are many like Candy, Crooks, and Curley’s wife—dying for a reason to live and desperate for a friend to share it with. Let’s offer them the hope we have found.
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