Tolstoy’s Confession: Death, God, and the Meaning of Life
Content warning: Mentions of depression and suicide.
“Warmth of the Sun,” Ron Hicks (1965).
If a man lives he believes in something. If he did not believe that one must live for something, he would not live.
— Leo Tolstoy, A Confession
At the age of 51, after having written War and Peace (1867) and Anna Karenina (1878), Leo Tolstoy reflected on his life and determined it to be utterly meaningless. He believed that there was something rotten lodged within his soul: an inconsolable sense of futility that stemmed from his belief that, since death destroys everything, nothing could possibly matter. The only logical solution to this dilemma, Tolstoy concluded, would be to commit suicide. But, with his notorious habit of overthinking, Tolstoy doubted himself and couldn’t fully accept the finality of death; in his mind, he needed to at least try to find some sense of solace. While contending with his distress and possible avenues to reach eventual relief, Tolstoy confronted a momentous and timeless question: what is the meaning of life? Tolstoy’s struggle with this question is laid bare throughout his works of fiction and non-fiction, both of which confront the meaning of life and the interplay between despair and hope.
Anna Karenina, widely considered one of the greatest works of literature, was written and released in installments from 1875 to 1877, with all but the last part published in the magazine The Russian Messenger. The novel has two protagonists, parallel and interconnected stories of individuals in Russian high society that complement and simultaneously contrast with each other. The first storyline follows the elegant Anna Karenina as she engages in an extramarital affair with the dashing Count Vronsky, leading to a host of complications. The second sees Konstantin Dmitrievich Levin struggle with loneliness and purposelessness while managing his farm. The novel offers a striking and at times controversial portrayal of 19th century Russia, contending with hot-button issues such as the liberation of serfs, the role of women in society, the Pan-Slavism movement, and the liberal reforms of Emperor Alexander II of Russia. After completing the novel, Tolstoy would release an essay titled A Confession, which dealt with his search for purpose in the context of a newfound sense of emptiness once he concluded his Anna Karenina series. Though one assumes the form of an essay and the other that of a novel, these two works nevertheless mirror and inform one another with regards to their contemplation upon life and its meaning.
Unfortunately for Tolstoy, any meaning to be found in the church was given a bad impression from a young age. In the opening pages of A Confession, Tolstoy recounts how, growing up, he was frequently tugged along to church, but still showed a striking ambivalence to all questions of God. Russian Orthodox Christianity, which legitimized monarchic power and maintained social order, was almost compulsory, and Tolstoy grew despondent, deeming Christian beliefs as senseless, hollow, and contradictory to his experiences.Tolstoy recalls his childhood and how those religious doctrines collapsed with experience. He states:
“So that, now as formerly, religious doctrine, accepted on trust and supported by external pressure, thaws away gradually under the influence of knowledge and experience of life which conflicts with it (A Confession, 3).
Looking back, Tolstoy found that the seed of his skepticism toward the Christian faith was planted after the premature death of his parents. In the midst of grief, Tolstoy grew bitter and wild; he didn’t take his studies seriously, and became disillusioned with the Russian high society in which he grew up. The excruciating grief pushed him to find any source of relief, and the hedonism of this social world proved alluring. These aristocratic rituals and social activities lacked any substance and often came at the expense of the common people. Later on, Tolstoy would critique this social world through the character of Count Vronsky in Anna Karenina, who does whatever pleases him, ultimately destroying Anna’s marriage.
Without any backbone to his life, Tolstoy became increasingly aloof over the years, doing whatever was expected, whatever made him feel good, whatever distracted him. He killed men in war, lied, robbed, and committed adultery, all of which were encouraged by those around him. At this time, debauchery was seen as comme il faut (socially accepted) as society was progressing and becoming more liberal under the great reforms of Emperor Alexander II. These experiences turned Tolstoy’s heart to stone, stripping away his hope for humanity. How could he preach the world of God and accept his grace when all he saw was destruction? This is reflected in how Tolstoy then began writing from what he calls “vanity,” only looking for fame and wealth. In his mind, why should he care for anyone when no one cared for him?
Eventually, Tolstoy’s life came to a halt. Despite achieving fame and wealth, Tolstoy increasingly felt “lost and became dejected” (A Confession, 13). All those years spent treating everyone and everything trivially finally caught up to him; there was nothing for him to strive for as he already achieved everything he seemingly wanted. Death became apparent to him, infecting the back of his mind. He became aware that death destroys all, and the world became a wasteland. In the midst of a deep depression, he couldn’t do anything but fret about his current situation. Tolstoy explains that he “felt what [he] had been standing on had collapsed, and that [he] had nothing left under [his] feet. What [he] had lived on no longer existed; and there was nothing left to live on” (A Confession, 14). Tolstoy sat in deafening silence in his study, the dim orange light of the candle flickering. As he buried his face in his hands, he managed a labored sigh; it was at this moment that he realized that he had nothing to live for.
In an effort to illustrate this struggle, Tolstoy uses an analogy in A Confession. Imagine this: you are escaping a ferocious beast and running with all your might to find safety. Eventually, you look around and find no other choice but to jump into a well. A second monster, however, lives at the bottom of the well, with its mouth wide open, waiting to devour anything that touches it. You cling onto a feeble branch stemming from the cracked stone of the well wall to survive. Looking over, you notice the branch being nibbled on by two mice, who will eventually snap it. All hope is lost, and it hits you that you will die. In an effort to distract yourself, you notice honey on the leaves and begin to lick it. Writing and his family were Tolstoy’s drops of honey, but neither of them succeeded in distracting him from his existential crisis. Tolstoy stared at the morning sun, dreading the day, knowing that nothing mattered and that he was alone. His world had lost all meaning—and he was restless. Everything became heavy: his heart, mind, and legs. He spent his days laying in bed, unable to heave himself up. In the silence of his room, he could hear the frantic beating of his heart and his sharp labored breathing as he stared at the gray cold ceiling. He would see his wife and children, but their presence elicited no emotional response; in essence, they became strangers. Sleep was his escape, a world where he did not have to worry. But each time he woke up, dread and fear struck him instantly with numbing force and it became all he knew; he couldn’t bear it much longer. In his mind, he could see no change in his circumstances andsuicide became an increasingly appealing option. He was, however, still unable to summon the courage to do what he deemed necessary.
In Anna Karenina, the character of Levin, seemingly a stand-in for Tolstoy, struggles with these same existential questions. The novel establishes Levin as a shy landowner who feels out of place in high society and would much rather live in the country. While in the countryside, he manages his estate and interacts with peasants, spending his days mowing the fields and debating how to deal with the newly emancipated serfs. It’s evident, however, that Levin doesn’t have a bigger purpose in his life and instead engages in farming and debating politics to distract rather than enrich himself. He constantly doubts himself and can’t find a sense of stability or comfort, heightening his anxiety throughout the progression of the novel.
Levin’s ignorance, though, is shattered when his brother, Nikolai, announces he is dying. Nikolai lies in bed coughing, slowly and painfully succumbing to his illness. Levin’s spirits are infected by this deathly aura, and he feels the impending threat of death on his shoulders. He contemplates the fallacy of life: “Death, the inevitable end of everything, presented itself to him for the first time with irresistible force … It was in him too—he felt it. If not now, then tomorrow, if not tomorrow, then in thirty years—did it make any difference?” (Anna Karenina, 348)
Levin’s despairing thoughts don’t wane as time goes on, but rather become more persistent. In the darkness of his bedroom, Levin sits alone and dejected, huddling against his knees, completely wrapped up in his thoughts. It occurs to him that “he had actually forgotten, overlooked in his life one small circumstance—that death would come and everything would end, that it was not worth starting anything and that nothing could possibly be done about it. Yes, it was terrible, but it was so” (Anna Karenina, 348).
Unlike Levin, Tolstoy became active and searched for a solution to his despair; as such, he attempted to find the meaning of life through science and philosophy. Although not explicitly discussed in Anna Karenina, Tolstoy’s research provides a foundation for understanding the novel’s pervading themes. Tolstoy first looked to science for answers. With science, however, he found no success. According to him, science “simply ignored life’s questions” (A Confession, 23) and instead provided laws of the mind, such as chemical combinations and the laws of light and body. In other words, science provides knowledge, but it does not provide comfort. As Tolstoy turned to philosophy, he certainly managed to find answers, but none were uplifting. He read the works of Solomon, Socrates, and the Buddha, though discovered that they all reached the same conclusion that he had: “Happy is he who has not been born: death is better than life, and one must free oneself from life” (A Confession, 35).
Tolstoy surmised that there are four ways to combat life’s meaninglessness. The first would be to become ignorant—i.e., not to think about the absurdity of existence and to continue as usual. At this point in his depression, Tolstoy felt incapable of doing so as his mind was corrupted. The second approach would be epicureanism, in which one fills their lives with as much pleasure as possible in order to distract themselves—drinking from an endless supply of honey and ignoring the beasts. The same problem remains, however, in that Tolstoy simply couldn’t distract himself from the beasts below. The third way is “of strength and energy” (A Confession, 37), meaning that when one realizes the foolishness of existence, they have the willpower to end their lives to stop the suffering. Despite suicide becoming more and more appealing, Tolstoy was still hesitant to do so. The final way is that of weakness, which Tolstoy clung to. He realized the foolishness of life but clings to it anyway because he lacks the courage to end it all.
Mirroring Tolstoy’s interior reflections, Anna Karenina’s Levin moves from one method to another in an attempt to console his despair. Before his existential crisis, Levin was living by the first method, enveloping himself in busy work to prevent himself from acknowledging the underlying meaninglessness of his life. In pursuit of distraction, Levin develops a deep fondness for physical labor because, to be efficient, one must not think. It’s in this detachment where Levin finds peace. Levin wouldn’t have become so despondent so rapidly if his work and politics were meaningful to him. For Levin, as for Tolstoy, the way of living described in method one is no longer possible. With the knowledge of the impending doom of death and the resulting meaninglessness of life, Levin is now corrupted. He was only able to be ignorant for so long. But surely it can’t be all so sudden: there must be some salvation, a way to reclaim the lightness of being that seems so in reach. Levin attempts to return to his farming and land management, and “he seized it and held on to it with all his remaining strength” (Anna Karenina, 352), a desperate attempt to find salvation. We know, though, that Levin’s efforts will be in vain, and he’ll only fall deeper in despair.
Despite his predicament, Levin finally succeeds in finding some solace. Stiva, the brother of Anna and Levin’s friend, eventually arranges for Levin and his sister in-law Kitty Shcherbatsky to meet again after Vronsky had rejected her. The couple reunite and promptly decide to get married. Levin’s vigor for living is renewed by the imminent relationship with the love of his life. In one particularly striking scene, Levin is wandering the town, waiting for the Shcherbatskys to wake up. As he embarks on his adventure, he experiences a spiritual awakening. Children walk to school, pigeons fly from rooftops onto the pavement, and bakers create white rolls with flour. Despite these events seeming mundane and arbitrary, Levin nevertheless finds them moving. As the sun sparkles and the scent of the bakery floods his nostrils, he watches a child run up to a pigeon, smiling as it flies away. All of this together stirs something within his heart, and he “weep[s] from joy” (Anna Karenina, 403). This elation from nascent love, however, is short-lived, incapable of standing against Levin’s pervasive dread, “and what he saw then, he afterwards never saw again” (Anna Karenina, 403).
How can Levin, and, by extension, Tolstoy be saved? All efforts ultimately seem futile. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, Tolstoy has a revelation: his worldview was too narrow, and he had never considered how millions of ordinary people live their lives. The fact that these people persevered through anything and looked at suicide as a horrible act shocked him. It’s in these common people where the meaning of life lies. After looking and comparing himself to those common people Tolstoy saw his fatal flaw. Tolstoy states, “Rational knowledge, presented by the learned and the wise, denies the meaning of life, but the enormous masses of men, the whole of mankind, receive that meaning in irrational knowledge. Irrational knowledge is faith, and I could not help but reject it. It is God” (A Confession, 43).
Faith drives these people, and their goals extend beyond physical health. The meaning of life is found in the infinite, in that which exceeds a finite physical reality. A purely rational approach cannot and will not satisfy the need to live. Faith, then, is a metaphysical reality that can’t be explained by science and can’t be rationalized. Thus the infinite question of the meaning of life, in this vein, requires an infinite answer. Tolstoy concludes, “If he does not see and recognize the illusory nature of the finite, he believes in the finite; if he understands the illusory nature of the finite, he must believe in the infinite. Without faith he cannot live” (A Confession, 47). To believe in something greater than oneself is to have faith and, eventually, Tolstoy invested this faith in “liv[ing] by real humanity” (A Confession, 57).
In the same way, Levin embarks on a similar journey toward spiritual awakening. Despite his marriage and newfound love to Kitty, Levin realizes that he has not found the meaning he had hoped for. After being a married man for many months, Levin’s view on his relationship changes. In his marriage, Levin, “at every step he felt like a man who, after having admired a little boat going smoothly and happily on a lake, then got into a boat he saw that it was not enough to sit straight without rocking” (479). There exists a disconnect between his image of married life and reality. Levin, moreover, finds that the birth of his child isn’t as glamorous as he expected. Levin watches as his feeble and helpless son is presented to him. He sees this birth as a tragedy; he has brought a soul into the world that will, like him, suffer a meaningless life. Levin finds himself back where he started: in a pit of despair. He can’t help but worry about his existence and purpose. The possibility of salvation through God is evident to Levin, but his mind won’t accept it. Although he isn’t religious, he begins praying to God during the frightening birth of his son.
With a brooding countenance, Levin drifts through his days. In the back of his mind, meanwhile, these thoughts about God strengthen subconsciously. Then, one day, he encounters a muzhik (a serf), who provides him with an answer: life can be found in God. Levin has a sudden epiphany and realizes, “I and all people have only one firm, unquestionable and clear knowledge, and this knowledge cannot be explained by reason” (795). With the context provided by A Confession, we can understand Levin’s increasing belief in the infinite. He states, “Yes, what I know, I do not know by reason, it is given to me, it revealed to me, and I know it by my heart, by faith in that main thing that the Church confesses” (709). For Levin, life is ultimately found in God, as the muzhik insists. This belief in the infinite is beautifully illustrated by Tolstoy in a scene near the end. Levin looks up to the sky and watches as flashes of lightning reveal the Milky Way and the stars. As soon as these lights pass, he can no longer perceive it. And, even though Levin can’t see the Milky Way and the stars constantly, he knows that they exist, providing a parallel to the nature of having faith.
Similarly, in a touching scene near the novel’s conclusion, Levin looks over at his wife, her sweet eyes and demure smile rousing a sense of warmth within him. She walks toward him, handing him their son, who cooes and looks up at him with an innocent smile while grasping onto his fingers. Kitty sits down next to him, burrowing her head into his chest as he kisses her on the forehead. The three sit on the porch and watch the lovely pines swaying in the afternoon breeze as the sun sets. In his chest, Levin feels a stirring of warm emotion so strong that he’s compelled to cry. For the first time, his mind clears and he can breathe. Though still a bit uncertain about his future and the struggles he’ll have to endure, Levin recognizes, with startling immediacy, that everything will be fine so long as he can love and be loved. It’s at this moment when everything becomes clear to him; it’s at this moment that he finds life.
Interestingly enough, despite finishing Anna Karenina and seemingly finding the meaning of life, Tolstoy still struggled to live. In A Confession, it becomes clear that uncovering life’s purpose isn’t the end of the journey. Faith is emotional energy that can wane and grow over time depending on our circumstances, even when it provides us with a valuable safety net. Faith, then, isn’t an inherent, constant, and inevitable guarantee of happiness. If there’s nothing to live for, then there’s nothing to fall back on, and we can only sink deeper until we reach destruction. It was with this faith that Tolstoy was able to live.