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The dogma of progress may never recover from the 20th century. Entire continents razed by war, whole peoples wiped from Earth, generations decimated for no good reason—such an optimistic view of human capacity didn't have a chance. What could possibly cause such catastrophic anguish? How could we fail to adapt, evolve, or learn from our earlier mistakes?

Before the killing started, Europe's brightest intellectuals gathered in fashionable salons to debate Marxism, eugenics, and utopia—ideas that would unleash this destruction. Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky chaired many such meetings during the mid-19th century. By the time he completed The Brothers Karamazov in 1879, Dostoyevsky had established himself as a foremost opponent of secularism and revolutionary Marxism.

In retrospect, Dostoyevsky fits William F. Buckley Jr.'s image of futile conservatism: He "stands athwart history, yelling Stop, at a time when no one is inclined to do so, or to have much patience with those who so urge it." His prophetic denunciation of secular totalitarianism—embodied less than a century after his death by Hitler and Stalin—helped me understand the root of rebellion against God that haunted the 20th century and threatens us still today.

I discovered Dostoyevsky a little later than many. We struggled a bit with American literature in my high school, and I can't imagine us wading through Dostoyevsky trying to keep our Alyoshas and Raskolnikovs apart. But during my junior year of college, I registered for an introductory course on Russian literature, one of the most popular classes at Northwestern University. Students flocked to hear Professor Gary Morson's dramatic readings from The Brothers Karamazov, but they stayed to grapple with the questions of morality and salvation. You can't learn Dostoyevsky without learning about his Christian faith. And despite majoring in European history and taking a class called "American Evangelicalism," I had yet to hear a compelling or fair case for Christianity until we began reading about the dysfunctional Karamazov family.

Dostoyevsky's Christian faith, like his writing, bears the mark of tortured genius. His biography from 131 Christians Everyone Should Know explains, "Though a devout Christian, he was never a good one." He squandered royalties while gambling and frantically authored his greatest works to stay one step ahead of the creditors.

Perhaps Dostoyevsky owes his unique brand of confrontational apologetics to this messy faith. Never inclined to moderation, Dostoyevsky slaps you in the face with dingy scenes of urban squalor and shady, depraved characters. His Underground Man in Notes from Underground notoriously inspires a prostitute to love him, then seduces her, only to humiliate her by paying her for the occasion. The Karamazov family patriarch cares so little for his children that he forgets they even exist. Dostoyevsky reminds us in Memoirs from the House of the Dead that "the executioner's nature is found in embryo in almost every contemporary man."

Many of Dostoyevsky's characters bore the strikingly complex image of their creator. Troubled in his youth by Russia's dismal poverty and indifferent leaders, Dostoyevsky developed an affinity for revolutionary philosophy. According to these theories, the inherited social order prevented humans from reaching their full capacity for virtue. Therefore people should be freed from the bondage of religious superstition and empowered to overthrow their leaders. This kind of talk earned Dostoyevsky a death sentence from the czar, who pardoned him at the last second in a particularly cruel stunt intended to break his will. It worked.

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February (Web-only) 2005, Vol. 49