The Painted Veil

I turn 83 today and I would like to share a passage that struck me as very meaningful in my old age. It is  from a novel that I recently read, written almost a hundred years ago by an atheist with a deep interest in religion. The Painted Veil is a 1925 novel by W. Somerset Maugham, one of the most popular novelists of the first half of the twentieth century. Once started a novel by Maugham is hard to put down, and The Painted Veil is no exception. Its protagonist is Kitty, a young English socialite who enters into a marriage of convenience with a man she doesn't love. Things get worse when her husband's work takes her from England to the British colony of Hong Kong where she has an affair with a married British official. Upon discovery, the husband forces her to accompany him to a crowded Chinese city where he intends to study and deal with a raging cholera epidemic. She suspects that he is taking her there in hopes that she will catch the dreaded disease.

I will not divulge much more of the story but just introduce what I consider to be a very significant exchange. In the stricken city Kitty is left largely alone while her husband does his medical research among the sick and dying. To pass the time she visits a Catholic convent containing a handful of French nuns who run an orphanage for children abandoned by their parents. Irreligious herself, she is impressed by the nuns and their work. Below are her's and Maugham's impressions.

Your first thought when looking at the Mother Superior was that as a girl she must have been beautiful, but in a moment you realized that this was a woman whose beauty, depending on character, had grown with advancing years. … But the most striking thing about her was the air she had of authority tempered by Christian charity: you felt in her the habit of command. To be obeyed was natural to her, but she accepted obedience with humility. You could not fail to see that she was deeply conscious of the authority of the church which upheld her. But Kitty had a surmise that notwithstanding her austere demeanor she had for human frailty a human tolerance; and it was impossible to look at her grave smile when she listened to Waddington, unabashed, talking nonsense, without being sure that she  had a lively sense of the ridiculous. (107)

Later, she relates her feelings to Waddington, a skeptical and agnostic British official who has been stationed in China for many years.

“I can’t tell you how deeply moved I’ve been by all I’ve seen at the convent. They’re wonderful, those nuns, they make me feel utterly worthless. They gave up everything, their home, their country, love, children, freedom; and all the little things which I sometimes think must be harder still to give up, flowers and green fields, going for a walk on an autumn day, books and music, comfort, everything they give up, everything. And they do it so that they may devote themselves to a life of sacrifice, poverty, obedience, killing work, and prayer. To all of them this world is really and truly a place of exile. Life is a cross which they willingly bear, but in their hearts all the time is the desire—oh, it’s so much stronger than desire, it’s a longing, an eager and passionate longing for the death which shall lead them to life everlasting. …

Supposing there is no life everlasting? Think what it means if death is really the end of all things. They’ve given up all for nothing. They’ve been cheated. They’re dupes.”

Waddington reflected for a little while.

“I wonder. I wonder if it matters that what they have aimed at is an illusion. Their lives are in themselves beautiful. I have an idea that the only thing which makes it possible to regard this world we live in without disgust is the beauty which now and then men create out of chaos. The pictures they paint, the music they compose, the books they write, and the lives they lead. Of all these the richest in beauty is the beautiful life. That is the perfect work of art.”

Kitty sighed. What he said seemed hard. She wanted more.

“Have you ever been to a symphony concert?” he continued…”

Every member of the orchestra plays his own little instrument, and what do you think he knows of the complicated harmonies which enroll themselves on the indifferent air? He is concerned only with his own small share. But he knows that the symphony is lovely, and though there’s none to hear it, it is lovely still, and he is content to play his part.”

“You spoke of Tao the other day,” said Kitty, after a pause. “Tell me what it is.”

Waddington gave her a little look, hesitated an instant, and then with a faint smile on his comic face answered.

“It is the Way and the Waygower. It is the eternal road along which walk all beings, but no being made it, for itself is being. It is everything and nothing. From it all things spring, all things conform to it, and to it at last all things return. It is a square without angles, a sound which ears cannot hear, and an image without form. It is a vast net and though its meshes are as wide as the sea it lets nothing through. It is the sanctuary where all things find refuge. It is nowhere, but without looking out of the window you may see it. Desire not to desire, it teaches, and leave all things to take their course. He that humbles himself shall be preserved entire. He that bends shall be made straight. Failure is the foundation of success and success is the lurking place of failure; but who can tell when the turning point will come? He who strives after tenderness can become even as a little child. Gentleness brings victory to him who attacks and safety to him who defends. Mighty is he who conquers himself.”

“Does it mean anything?”

“Sometimes, when I’ve had a dozen whiskies and look at the stars, I think perhaps it does.” (196-197)

Toward the end, as Kitty plans to return to England, the Mother Superior bids her adieu. 

 “Good-bye, God bless you, my dear child.” She held her for a moment in her arms. “Remember that it is nothing to do your duty, that is demanded of you and is no more meritorious than to wash your hands when they are dirty; the only thing that counts is the love of duty; when love and duty are one, then grace is in you and you will enjoy a happiness which passes all understanding.” 

The convent door closed for the last time behind her. (205-6)

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