Anna Karenina

Part Five begins with wedding preparations in full swing - but it's complicated. Princess Shtcherbatskaya thinks it's impossible to have the wedding before Lent (just five weeks away) because the trousseau won't be ready. But Levin argues that waiting until after Lent is too late - an old aunt is seriously ill and might die, which would mean mourning would delay things even further. The compromise: divide the trousseau into two parts. The smaller part gets done now for the wedding, the larger part can be made later. The Princess agrees, though she's irritated that Levin can't give her a serious answer about whether this arrangement is acceptable. Why can't he answer properly? Because Levin is walking around in what Tolstoy calls 'the same delirious condition' - he feels like he and his happiness are 'the chief and sole aim of all existence.' He doesn't need to think or plan anything; others are handling everything. His brother gets money, the Princess advises leaving Moscow after the wedding, Stepan Arkadyevitch suggests going abroad. Levin agrees to everything. His philosophy: 'Do what you choose, if it amuses you. I'm happy, and my happiness can be no greater and no less for anything you do.' When he mentions Stiva's abroad suggestion to Kitty, he's surprised she doesn't agree. She has her own definite ideas: she knows Levin has work he loves in the country, and though she doesn't really understand it, she regards it as important. She wants to go where their home will be - not abroad where they won't live. This clear purpose astonishes Levin, but since he doesn't care either way, he immediately asks Stiva to go arrange everything at the country house. Then comes the complication. Stepan Arkadyevitch returns from the country and asks casually: 'Have you a certificate of having been at confession?' Levin: 'No. But what of it?' Stiva: 'You can't be married without it.' Levin cries out 'Aïe, aïe, aïe!' - he hasn't taken the sacrament in nine years. He never thought of it. Stiva laughs: 'You're a pretty fellow! And you call me a Nihilist! But this won't do, you know. You must take the sacrament.' There are only four days left. For Levin, 'as to any unbeliever who respects the beliefs of others,' participating in church ceremonies is exceedingly disagreeable. And at this particular moment - 'in the heyday of his highest glory, his fullest flower' - being forced into what feels like hypocrisy is not merely painful, it seems 'utterly impossible.' He would have to be either a liar or a scoffer, and he feels incapable of being either. He keeps asking Stiva if there's a way to get the certificate without actually taking communion. Stiva insists it's impossible, then reassures him: 'Besides, what is it to you—two days? And he's an awfully nice clever old fellow. He'll pull the tooth out for you so gently, you won't notice it.' During the church services, Levin tries to revive his youthful religious feelings from age sixteen or seventeen - impossible. He tries to see it all as empty custom with no meaning, like paying social calls - also impossible. He's in the vague position of most of his contemporaries: he can't believe, but he also has no firm conviction it's all wrong. Result: throughout the preparation for the sacrament, he feels discomfort and shame at doing what he doesn't understand and what 'an inner voice' tells him is false and wrong. During the services he tries to attach meaning to the prayers that doesn't contradict his own views. When that fails, he tries not to listen, instead letting thoughts, observations, and memories float through his mind 'with extreme vividness during this idle time of standing in church.' The confession scene is remarkable. The church is nearly empty - just a beggar soldier, two old women, and church officials. A young deacon leads him through the exhortation. But Levin isn't listening. He's thinking about Kitty's hand - how they sat at a corner table the day before, how she opened and closed her hand and laughed, how he kissed it and examined the lines on her pink palm. 'Have mercy on us again!' he thinks mechanically while watching the deacon bow. The deacon accepts a three-rouble note, and soon beckons Levin toward the altar. The priest is 'a little old man with a scanty grizzled beard and weary, good-natured eyes.' After preliminary prayers, he says: 'Christ is present here unseen, receiving your confession. Do you believe in all the doctrines of the Holy Apostolic Church?' Levin responds with shocking honesty: 'I have doubted, I doubt everything.' His voice jars even on himself. The priest asks about his special sins. Levin: 'My chief sin is doubt. I have doubts of everything, and for the most part I am in doubt.' The priest repeats that doubt is natural to human weakness, then asks: 'What do you doubt about principally?' Levin can't help himself: 'I doubt of everything. I sometimes even have doubts of the existence of God.' He's horrified at the impropriety but can't take it back. The priest doesn't seem fazed. He asks hurriedly: 'What sort of doubt can there be of the existence of God? Who has decked the heavenly firmament with its lights? Who has clothed the earth in its beauty? How explain it without the Creator?' Levin feels it would be improper to start a metaphysical debate, so he just says: 'I don't know.' Priest, with good-humored perplexity: 'You don't know! Then how can you doubt that God created all?' Levin, blushing: 'I don't understand it at all.' He knows his words are stupid but can't help it. The priest tells him to pray, that even the holy fathers had doubts. Then he pivots: 'You're about, I hear, to marry the daughter of my parishioner and son in the spirit, Prince Shtcherbatsky? An excellent young lady.' Levin blushes again: 'What does he want to ask me about this at confession for?' But the priest has a point to make: if Levin enters holy matrimony and God blesses him with children, what kind of upbringing can he give them if he doesn't overcome the devil's temptation toward infidelity? If he loves his children, he'll want their spiritual enlightenment, not just wealth and luxury. What will he say when his innocent child asks: 'Papa! Who made all that enchants me in this world—the earth, the waters, the sun, the flowers, the grass?' Can he really say 'I don't know'? What about when the child asks what awaits them after death? Will Levin leave his children to the allurements of the world and the devil? Levin makes no answer - not because he wants to avoid discussion, but because no one has ever asked him such questions. When his children do ask, it will be time to think about answers. The priest finishes the absolution prayer, blesses him, and dismisses him. When Levin gets home, he feels 'a delightful sense of relief at the awkward position being over' without having to tell a lie. There's also a vague memory that what the 'kind, nice old fellow' said wasn't as stupid as it first seemed - 'there was something in it that must be cleared up.' Not now, but someday. Levin feels more than ever that 'there was something not clear and not clean in his soul' regarding religion, and he's in the same position he dislikes in others and blames in his friend Sviazhsky. That evening Levin is at Dolly's with Kitty, 'in very high spirits.' To explain his excitement to Stepan Arkadyevitch, he says he's happy 'like a dog being trained to jump through a hoop, who, having at last caught the idea, and done what was required of him, whines and wags its tail, and jumps up to the table and the windows in its delight.' This is one of Tolstoy's most psychologically precise chapters about the collision between social/religious ritual and personal authenticity. Levin must go through the motions of faith to access the social institution of marriage, even though he can't sincerely believe. The priest is neither foolish nor hostile - his questions about children are actually penetrating. But Levin can't resolve the tension between what he's expected to profess and what he actually thinks. For now, he's so happy about marrying Kitty that he can paper over this fundamental dishonesty with relief and excitement. But Tolstoy makes clear the questions will return. The chapter title could be: 'The Happy Dog Who Must Lie About God.'