From Dr. Thurow:
Our Juniors and Seniors are now reading Don Quixote, a hilarious, often crass and irreverent, but truly thoughtful book that is considered in Spanish in a very similar light to how Shakespeare’s works are considered in English. But no one could mistake Don Quixote for a work of Shakespeare’s! It stands as a good reminder of the rich diversity of cultures represented by Europe and the Western tradition as a whole.
Don Quixote, himself, is a madman and likely a fool, but he also expresses some real insight, just as the author, Cervantes, writes what seems like the ultimate satire of chivalry after living a truly noble and chivalrous life, himself. When standing up against another character who is criticizing his (mostly imaginary) beloved lady, Dulcinea, Don Quixote gives us a truly thoughtful perspective that we might, perhaps, apply to our own relationships to our advantage.
He says: “Don’t you know, you groveling beggarly villain, that were it not for the valour with which she inspires this arm, I should not have enough to kill a flea? Tell me, you viperish scoffer, what you think hath won this kingdom… Is it not the valour of Dulcinea that makes use of my arm as an instrument of her exploits?”
Dulcinea is sitting safe at home, yet Don Quixote credits her with his every good deed, done for her sake. In a sense this is silly, but in a sense it is not. It is easy for a spouse, personally laboring for the benefit of the family as a whole, to become prideful and thus resentful in the debased climate of our current popular culture. Yet the cause of an action is, in a very real sense, more responsible for that action than the body that performs the action. We do not praise the stick or the puck, but the hockey player who wields them. We do not blame the messenger, but the one who gives him his orders and writes the message.
Thus, if we take Don Quixote quite seriously for a moment, we may see a unique perspective on the error of the arrogant spouse who simultaneously praises their own actions and resents the apparent inaction of those for whom he or she does them. Indeed, the spouse feels self-righteous and superior precisely because they do what they do for those they love. Don Quixote would say this knowledge should be, conversely, the ultimate source of humility. If the spouse had no family to support, would they really work as hard or aim as high? If self-secrifice is admirable, how can it be achieved without the beloved for which the sacrifice is made? If it is the presence of the family that causes the spouse’s greatest labors, then those accomplishments are not, most accurately, those of the lover, but more truly belong to the beloved.
We rightly credit God this way, as the cause of our charitable acts, why should we not also credit our beloved family the same way? Indeed, rather than resentment, should we not feel gratitude to those who inspire our hardest work, our noblest sacrifices, and our highest accomplishments? It is the peace and tranquility of the domestic sphere that causes the courage and sacrifice of the active life, thus the credit lies more accurately with that beautiful cause. Thus at the climax of A Tale of Two Cities, Dickens can declare that love was always vastly more powerful than hate. Contrast to the sacrificing spouse the sadness of the alternative: the directionless, isolated, self-absorbed life that stretches out into old age without purpose outside of the self even as the self declines towards oblivion.
We are discussing the perspective of a madman, yes, and yet perhaps it helps us to explore our own madness, that of our pride. We are quick to pass credit to other people and circumstances when considering our misdeeds. What would it be like if we really could always give credit to the cause of our good actions, rather than to ourselves? How much credit for our good deeds we would then surely give not only to high things like love, but also to misunderstood things like danger, uncertainty, and even suffering! Ultimately, such a perspective would always end by raising all praise up to God, Who causes all things.
A curious reflection drawn from a curious text.
February 21, 2026