ABSTRACT
It is a difficult task, one full of responsibility, to write worthily of Fedor Mihailovich Dostoeffsky, and to set forth adequately all he signifies for the inner life of the contemporary world. Indeed, the breadth and the power of this one individual demand from the authors a new standard of measurement. They are confronted with boundless expanses, with a cosmos having its own circling stars and making its own music of the spheres. Dostoeffsky never holds out a hand to help the authors approach him. Other master builders of the authors' day have revealed their intentions. Dostoeffsky only allows the authors to examine his finished work; the outline sketches which might have enlightened them as to his motives have been consumed in the fires of creation. Silent and shy, he passed on his way through life, and the authors are hardly given a glimpse even at the outward and physical facts of his existence.
