Jr Bacdayan's Reviews > Of Human Bondage

What is the meaning of life? This is the great riddle that Philip Carey tries to understand and throughout this book's pages reside the experiences that slowly shape his answer, each episode like a brush stroke on a canvas until slowly comes to life a picturesque painting or perhaps a horrifying image.

Carey was born with a clubfoot, became an orphan early, and was adopted by his uncle, a vicar, and his subservient aunt. He was raised a devout Christian, and was enrolled in education that prepared him, like his uncle, to be a man of the cloth. His first instincts were trained to associate the purpose of his life in the service of God. However his faith proved fragile when during his first independent foray into the world, an intellectual awakening rendered it impossible for him to keep the faith. Thus marked the end of his formal education.

Rife with life's possiblities, young Carey envisioned himself a gentleman but did not know which path to take. There were several occupations he endeavoured to make his trade. His first shot an ill-advised attempt at becoming a chartered accountant. But his mind was too imaginative for the repetitive toil of organising numericals. Then was the well-intentioned impulse at trying his hand at becoming a painter in Paris. But skilled as he was with making drawings, he did not have the talent which was imperative for an artist's success. He was momentarily carried away by the beauty of the world and tried to find the root of his existence in the feeling of awe when he viewed an artistic masterwork, but it failed to arouse a lasting impression, producing nothing but a fleeting sensation.

Finally he settled himself at Medicine, his deceased Father's trade, and found that he had the temperament for it. After his parents died and their estate was settled he was left altogether with approximately 2,000 pounds. With the cost of his early education being taken from it by his miserly uncle, he had about 1,600 to live on for a few years till he established a trade to give him a dependable source of income. But as young men are prone to passion, Carey fell deeply in love for a wretched woman that not only depleted his resources substantially but also cost him no end of grief. Sick as he was with infatuation, it slowly dawned on him that the pangs of loving desire he felt, though overpowering, should contribute nothing but a small part to his existence and not become the whole point. And as passion is unsustainable, more so one unrequited, it petered out till nothing was left but self castigation.

Because of his overzealous spending brought about by eager passion, his plans would get side tracked by abject poverty and he would spend two years as a shop worker enduring many hardships both economically and psychologically before he could earn his degree. In this he learned the value of humility. He learned to shed his selfish coat, often worn by gentlemen, and became sensitive to the plight of his fellow humans especially those struggling as he did at that time. This would become a valuable asset as a practicing doctor, when he could show no disgust at the poverty of his patients helping them feel at ease as he tried to alleviate their suffering.

Of Human Bondage is the tale of man's life filled to the brim with failure and mistakes. It depicts how much pain and agony life gives us. But cleverly woven between sadness, failure, and pain, are moments full of joy, of friendship, and of love.

"His life seemed horrible when it was measured by happiness, but now he seemed to gather strength as he realised that it might be measured by something else. Happiness mattered as little as pain. They came in, both of them, as all other details of his life came in, to the elaboration of the design. He seemed for an instant to stand above the accidents of his existence, and he felt that they could not affect him again as they had done before. Whatever happened to him now would be one more motive to add to the complexity of the pattern, and when the end approached he would rejoice in its completion. It would be a work of art, and it would be none the less beautiful because he alone knew of its existence, and with his death it would at once cease to be. Philip was happy."

Life is not a grand painting filled with beauty, it is but a simple rug - woven with the different threads of our choices and experiences. It might seem inconsequential and even shabby to those who see it, but for those who are lucky enough to feel its personal touch - if offers a loving warmth and friendly comfort.

May your life be full in experiences, and rich in friendship and love.