Resurrection

The New Testament functions as a profound symbol of spiritual clarity, moral challenge, and transformation in Resurrection. Introduced to Nekhlyudov by the English prison reformer during their prison visits, the book at first appears obscure and difficult to navigate. It quietly accompanies him through his descent into the world of state violence and moral failure, waiting to be unlocked. In the novel’s final chapters, after witnessing the death of Kryltsov and the horrors of the prison system, Nekhlyudov turns to the New Testament in despair. Opening it randomly, he encounters passages from the Gospel of Matthew that speak directly to his moral crisis. These words offer not abstract consolation but a radical new ethic: Forgiveness without limit, renunciation of judgment, and active love for enemies.

As he continues reading—especially the Sermon on the Mount—Nekhlyudov experiences a deep inner shift. The text no longer seems incoherent or symbolic, it is a practical guide to just and meaningful living. The New Testament thus becomes the instrument of his moral rebirth, equipping him with a new worldview that rejects retributive justice and embraces compassion. It symbolizes The Possibility of Redemption and Transformation, as well as the radical simplicity of Tolstoy’s late-life Christian anarchism. This symbol marks a sharp contrast to the mechanical law books and bureaucratic procedures of the justice system, positioning faith, not legality, as the true basis of moral renewal.

Love is a motif throughout Resurrection as both a redemptive force and a test of moral sincerity. While romantic love initially frames the narrative—through Nekhlyudov’s youthful seduction of Maslova and, later, his offer of marriage—Tolstoy gradually dismantles conventional romantic ideals, favoring more spiritual, ethical, and communal expressions of love. 

Nekhlyudov’s early infatuation with Maslova is marked by selfish desire, but his journey through the courts, prisons, and Siberian exile leads him toward a radically different understanding. When he says, “I want to live, I want a family, children, I want a human life” (567), he does not mean passion or sentimentality. Instead, he yearns for a life rooted in compassion, simplicity, and moral purpose. Likewise, Maslova’s rejection of Nekhlyudov’s proposal is not an act of bitterness but an expression of selfless care, with her choosing to release him from a duty she believes would burden him.

Spiritual and communal love dominate the second half of the novel, especially in the bonds among prisoners and in the selfless actions of figures like Maria Pavlovna, who devotes herself entirely to others without expectation of reward. Even Simonson’s love for Maslova is framed not as a romance, but as a philosophical and moral alliance. These forms of love—patient, sacrificial, and grounded in human solidarity—offer an alternative to the cruelty of institutional systems. They reflect Tolstoy’s deeper vision of The Possibility of Redemption and Transformation, showing that true change arises not from law, punishment, or abstract ideology, but from the daily, courageous practice of love in action.