Here is the thesis:
Because in the end, the only thing worse than being called an idiot for loving too much... is being praised as a genius for not loving at all.
But in 1869, Fyodor Dostoevsky—the master of psychological torment—wrote a novel called The Idiot . And if you pick it up expecting a story about a man with a low IQ, you are in for the most uncomfortable spiritual sucker punch of your life. o idiota dostoievski
The tragedy of The Idiot is that Myshkin cannot save anyone. The world isn't broken because people are ignorant; the world is broken because people choose the lie over the truth. We prefer Rogozhin’s violent passion to Myshkin’s gentle clarity because passion is exciting and clarity is boring.
Dostoevsky calls it hell.
But Dostoevsky offers a terrifying counter-argument: Maybe the "idiot" is the only one who has solved the puzzle.
And in Dostoevsky’s world (and perhaps in ours), sincerity is indistinguishable from insanity. Here is the thesis: Because in the end,
He tells a woman she is beautiful when it is socially awkward to do so. He forgives an enemy before the enemy has apologized. He offers help to the man who just tried to ruin him.