Facing Life’s Happiness and Misfortune

Facing Life’s Happiness and Misfortune

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” From a very young age, I heard my mother repeat this sentence again and again. I also knew that it was the most important line in Anna Karenina. But at the time, I had no deep understanding of happiness or misfortune in life, so naturally I could not truly grasp it. As for the novel itself, I had never actually read it. Partly this was because I had always lacked interest in this kind of subject matter; partly because I probably assumed that the theme of the entire work was nothing more than that simple yet profound opening line. Clearly, what the author wanted to emphasize was the second half—that is, the tragedy of Anna’s story.

While out on morning runs, I spent about a month listening to the entire book. It was the first work by Tolstoy I had ever listened to—or read—and it left a deep impression on me. Beyond the distinctive qualities inherent in Russian writers—or perhaps in Russian speech itself—Tolstoy’s work has a character all its own. Take Levin’s appearance, for example. At first I assumed his story would intersect with Anna’s, but only at the end did I realize that it could have been a completely separate story. As the author’s alter ego within the novel, Levin does nothing to advance Anna’s story itself; rather, he serves as a vehicle through which Tolstoy conveys his thoughts, views, and inner journey. To me, this feels somewhat forced (though part of that may be because I am detached from the story’s original context). So although it enriches the novel on the level of ideas, on the level of storytelling alone it does some damage to the main narrative.

Returning to the story itself, I think that from Levin’s point of view, his own life is probably both happy and unhappy. Like most people, his life is full of ups and downs, joy and pain. Taken as a whole, this is normal. But if one lacks patience with life as a whole, then every phase becomes hard to endure. Put each stage of life under a magnifying glass, and each one will seem full of twists and hardship. For a sensitive and delicate character like Levin, this is especially true: heartbreak or love, life seems like a roller coaster, with heaven and hell separated by a single thought. Yet if we pull the camera back and look from a distance, Levin’s family should probably still be counted among the “happy” ones—steady and relatively smooth. But who, in the present moment of life, can see what the next moment will bring?

As for Anna, it is hard to describe her simply as happy or unhappy. Of course, for Karenin’s family, this is naturally one form of misfortune. But for an individual life, what is truly better: to slowly fade away in the long torment of passing years, or to burn brightly and briefly like a meteor? Perhaps there is no single answer. As The Count of Monte Cristo puts it: “Life offers no greater burden than itself.” Anna encountered love in the middle of a long, dull life, and for her that love was as rare and precious as an oasis in the desert. Yet there was no soil in her life where such a love could truly take root. For her, and for everyone around her, that too was a profound misfortune.

One of the finest things about a great writer lies in the shifting of perspectives. Even within a single work, the author does not look at things with only one pair of eyes. In Anna’s story, we see what Anna sees, what Vronsky sees, what Karenin sees, what Stiva sees, and even what little Seryozha sees. In each person’s eyes, everyone appears as the sort of person they are bound to see. Everyone feels they have given a great deal; everyone feels others have not done enough; everyone believes justice is on their own side—just as we do in real life. Yet in the tangled confusion of life, I think there is no such thing as “truth” or “absolute rightness.” If we could shift into another person’s position the way a novelist can, each of us would probably see something entirely different. And so whenever a matter—or a relationship—reaches the point where people start arguing over who is right, it usually means no one can truly explain it clearly and no one can truly persuade the other. But once we are able to put ourselves in someone else’s place, most problems become much easier to resolve.

Judging from the ending, Anna pays the most terrible price, and she is certainly deserving of pity and love. This is her tragedy. Yet when I think of Vronsky, I often feel that if the story had ended abruptly at the moment he shot himself, then the novel would have become his tragedy instead. Unfortunately, in life, one may not be born as one wishes, nor die as one wishes. And for Karenin, this too is a tragedy. He did nothing wrong, yet he bore all the consequences. But life moves forward in exactly this way: there is no “should,” no “if,” no “what if.” All happiness and misfortune must simply be faced.

Pushkin, another great Russian writer, expressed his attitude toward life’s many misfortunes in his well-known poem If by Life You Were Deceived. The older I grow, the more deeply I feel its truth:

“If by life you were deceived,

Don’t be dismal, don’t be wild!

In the day of grief, be mild:

Merry days will come, believe.

Heart is living in tomorrow;

Present is dejected here:

In a moment, passes sorrow;

That which passes will be dear.”