He meant it literally. Fyodor Dostoevsky stood before a firing squad at twenty-eight, heard the order, and was reprieved at the last possible moment in a calculated act of cruelty.
He survived years of imprisonment in Siberia, epilepsy, gambling addiction, and grinding poverty. And he emerged from all of it with his faith not merely intact but deepened—convinced that he had seen something in the extremity of human suffering that a comfortable life conceals. [...]
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