The BEST: Don Quixote

“The BEST” series asks our writers to consider what things “out there” make us think and feel. What elements in our culture still inspire us to live better? We seek to share what we find that might still be described as “the best that has been thought and said.” Click here to read about “The BEST” and to see the index of all columns in this series.

 Summary: Published in two parts in 1605 and 1615, Miguel de Cervantes’ masterpiece depicts a middle-aged Castilian gentleman who spends his days reading books of chivalry; the reading leads him into some state of insanity in which reality and illusion blend. Assuming the name Don Quixote, he becomes a knight errant, recruits Sancho Panza as his squire, and roams the countryside on outrageous and violent adventures, trying to restore virtue in a fallen world.

Why this is The BEST: Don Quixote is the first modern novel, in the sense that we see a character breaking free from his fate. Quixote would have slipped anonymously into old age before dying an undistinguished death. This is what he was supposed to do, in the same way that in Greek mythology the outcomes were pre-determined (“fated”). Yet, Don Quixote chose to shape his own fate, the first character to do so in a work of fiction. While based on the Jewish (and Catholic) assumption that every man has free will, Cervantes goes far beyond that, showing that people can pursue greatness. As Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes in On Repentance:

Judaism has always held that it lies within man’s power to renew himself, to be reborn and to redirect the course of his life. In this task, man must rely on himself; no one can help him. He is his own creator and innovator. He is his own redeemer; he is his own messiah who has come to redeem himself from the darkness of his exile to the light of his personal redemption.

Pablo Picasso, “Don Quixote” (1955)

Don Quixote also shows that people can stand apart from the masses as distinct individuals, following the example Socrates in the Apology and Abraham in Genesis. This attitude later finds expression in Soren Kierkegaard’s notion of the absurd hero. Quixote engages in outlandish and unreasonable quests, acts that he believes are correct despite the ridicule of others. Quixote’s conviction makes him an inspiring figure. Similarly, Kierkegaard’s reading of Abraham, and by extension all religious devotees, is an expression of steadfast religious loyalty, occasionally bordering on the absurd, in the face of the rationalist (specifically, Kantian) critiques of religious inspiration. This person who stands in opposition to reason, a model that has captivated many Jewish thinkers, is based on Quixote. The Kierkegaardian “knight of faith” is ultimately based on Cervantes’ knight errant. And this loneliness—or better, “aloneness”—is at the center of R. Soloveitchik’s “The Lonely Man of Faith.”

Don Quixote also teaches about enchantment. He sees the world in an elevated, wonderstruck, mystical way. While most characters are tedious and pedestrian, Don Quixote seems to have access to a deeper reality. One example is when Don Quixote feels that he must do penance, so he violently strikes his own head on a rock. His squire warns Quixote that since this penance is not “real,” he should instead hit his head on something soft, like cotton. Quixote responds by saying, “I want you to realize that all the things I am doing are not jokes but very real.” Quixote reminds us that there is a deeper reality, something that is “more real than real.” This idea can be found in the correspondence between Italian kabbalist Elijah Benamozegh and Samuel David Luzzatto. Posing a rhetorical question, Benamozegh asks, “If one eats matza for no other reason than the memory of the blessed unleavened dough, can we not remember it equally well with a good sermon, without submitting our teeth and stomach to torture for seven days?” Rather, he argues, “If one wants to preserve the mitzvot, they must be put on a higher plane in which these influences cannot make themselves heard, and this is the plane of the absolute” (Shadal on Numbers, p. 385). The mitzva itself matters because the act itself matters. This stands in stark contrast with “rationalists” who say that the mitzva is a stepping-stone to some other objective. However, if the mitzva is merely a stepping-stone, that in effect demotes it from inherently valuable to being a means to an end, and if that’s the case, what difference does it make if one strikes one’s head on stone rather than cotton, or if one shakes a lulav rather than a pine cone on Sukkot? Rather, the mitzva exists, to use Benamozegh’s phrase, on “the plane of the absolute.” In other words, Judaism recognizes the dignity and inherent significance of the individual act. Quixote, an absurd man, expresses a sincerity and authenticity that is absent in the more “rational” characters. Don Quixote, despite his insanity, stands out as the most admirable, human, and heroic character in the book.

Additionally, Don Quixote wants to restore a sense of honor in a time of decadence and corruption. As religious Jews, we may feel like the world has lost its sense of direction; Don Quixote had the same feeling. Instead of complaining, however, he tried to do something about it, as Rav Kook said, “The truly righteous do not complain about evil, but rather add justice; they do not complain about heresy, but rather add faith; they do not complain about ignorance, but rather add wisdom.” Even though Quixote was unsuccessful, we can still admire his resolve.

This novel established the idea that great literature must simultaneously educate and entertain. This is consistent with the Talmudic statement that the beauty “expands one’s mind” (Berakhot 57b). But how can literature, and beauty more broadly, achieve that? One of the minor characters in the novel is the Canon of Toledo, a critic of the tales of chivalry, tries to differentiate good from bad literature. Authors of chivalric tales are meaningless and even destructive, since they can tempt good people to engage in dangerous undertakings. However, authors of great literature can leverage their characters to explore eternal questions: “He can display the guile of Ulysses, the piety of Aeneas, the valor of Achilles, the misfortunes of Hector, the treachery of Sinon, the friendship of Euryalus, the liberality of Alexander, the valor of Caesar, the clemency and truthfulness of Trajan, the fidelity of Zopyrus, [or] the prudence of Cato….” While putting these words into his character’s mouth, Cervantes might have intended to flag Don Quixote as a “mere” satire, but ironically, he has offered one of the great arguments for the importance of his own great literary creation.

Finally, Don Quixote teaches that perhaps it is only a broken man who can save a broken world. Even though this particular person failed, perhaps the next one will succeed. This is why so many have been inspired by Don Quixote, despite his blatant shortcomings and failures. The novel was adapted into a 1965 Broadway musical, Man of La Mancha, and later a film starring Peter O’Toole as the title character. It’s most enduring song, “The Impossible Dream,” aptly sums up the entire ethos of novel with its final stanza:

And the world will be better for this

That one man, scorned and covered with scars

Still strove with his last ounce of courage

To reach the unreachable star.

Rabbi Alec Goldstein is the Managing Director of the Lobel Center for Jewish Classical Education, a division of the Tikvah Fund, and founder of Kodesh Press.

Rabbi Mitchell Rocklin is the Academic Director and Dean of the Lobel Center for Jewish Classical Education, as well as a Senior Lecturer and Director of the Concentration in Jewish Classical Education of the University of Dallas’ Braniff Graduate School.

This essay draws on material developed by the Lobel Center—contact the Center for more information about this curriculum.