The only hope we have is to become fools. As Scripture says, “Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise” (1 Corinthians 3:18). As Dostoevsky shows us, we must become “ridiculous men”—willing to be thought foolish by the world—in order to find true wisdom, meaning, and redemption.

There are only two worldviews that are truly consistent—two that take their own presuppositions and follow them to their natural conclusions. Not two correct worldviews, but two that make sense on their own terms.

The first is Christian theism. This worldview holds that God created the world and reigns as Lord over all. He made us in His image and endowed us with value and purpose. Yet we sinned and rebelled against Him, bringing death and destruction into the world. God sent His Son, Jesus, who lived a perfect life, suffered, and died on the cross to bear our sin and its consequences. Those who believe in Him are redeemed, and He will one day return to complete His redemptive work, bringing about a new heaven and a new earth where God once again dwells with humanity in perfect harmony.

The second logically consistent worldview is nihilism. In this view, the universe has no meaning or purpose. We exist by random chance—mere cosmic stardust assembled by accident. If this is true, then there is no objective morality, no beauty, and no truth. Without a Creator, purpose, or inherent value, the only consistent conclusion is that nothing truly matters. As one existential philosopher put it, the only real question each of us must answer is whether or not to commit suicide.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, the 19th-century Russian novelist, wrestled with these two worldviews in his writing. Recently, I came across a short story he wrote where I believe he perfectly encapsulated these two worldviews. In The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, Dostoevsky introduces us to our protagonist—a man who is on his way home about to commit suicide. He begins the tale by telling the readers that he is a ridiculous man.

“I am a ridiculous man. They call me a madman now. That would be a distinct rise in my social position were it not that they still regard me as being as ridiculous as ever. But that does not make me angry any more. They are all dear to me now even while they laugh at me—yes, even then they are for some reason particularly dear to me. I shouldn’t have minded laughing with them—not at myself, of course, but because I love them—had I not felt so sad as I looked at them. I feel sad because they do not know the truth, whereas I know it. Oh, how hard it is to be the only man to know the truth! But they won’t understand that. No, they will not understand.”

In the opening, as he describes his youth and the path that led him to this place, he begins by articulating the key problem he faced:

“Perhaps it was because I was becoming terribly disheartened owing to one circumstance which was beyond my power to control, namely, the conviction which was gaining upon me that nothing in the whole world made any difference.”

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