Don Quixote 2: The Joy of Illusions

Let's go fly a kite

I’ve claimed that Man of La Mancha is the story of an existential hero who throws himself wholeheartedly into the impossible quest to right all the world’s wrongs. As I confessed last week, the optimist in me eats all this up. But we might still ask whether it should. After all, the man is delusional. In that post I ended with the question of whether our illusions are a good thing. They get things wrong, after all.

Still, there’s research to suggest that a certain amount of happy illusion actually is a sign of good mental health: inflation in three areas—belief in our own abilities, a sense of control over events, and optimism about the future—all help maintain the self-esteem that keeps us functioning.

Even the padre sees this, singing at one point (this is my favorite song!):

To each his Dulcinea
That he alone can name
To each a secret hiding place
Where he can find the haunting face
To light his secret flame

For with his Dulcinea
Beside him so to stand
A man can do quite anything
Help fly the bird upon the wing
Hold moonlight in his hand

Yet if you build your life on dreams
It's prudent to recall
A man with moonlight in his hand
Has nothing there at all

There is no Dulcinea
She's made of flame and air
And yet how lovely life would seem
If every man could weave a dream
To keep him from despair
To each his Dulcinea
Though she's only flame and air

Notice how the third stanza nods to reality, though. There’s something wonderful about dreams that keep us going, yes. But a kite needs to be tethered, or it floats off and the fun is ruined. So the real question isn’t whether illusions are good, but really when or how much they are: What’s the right balance between illusion and reality? How long a string should we give our kites?

Most people do in fact value reality. And there are characters in the show who represent this: Don Quixote’s family, for example, some of whom go after him expressly to cure him of his embarrassing delusions (and they succeed). Or as Aldonza cries at one point, “Take the clouds from your eyes and see me as a really am!” She wants to be seen for herself, not through his rose-colored glasses.¹

There’s a famous thought experiment by Robert Nozick called the “Experience Machine” in which he essentially asks—to put it in somewhat more modern terms²—whether you’d enter the Matrix if given the chance to have any life you like. He thinks most of us wouldn’t choose this, and he takes this to mean that we value something about reality that isn’t captured in a life that’s pleasurable but illusory. My students’ choices suggest that Nozick is generally right: usually somewhere around 2/3 say they wouldn’t plug into the Matrix, and 1/3 would.

When I hold this discussion with students, I usually stand on the side of the room with the folks who choose not to enter the Matrix. I like feeling accomplished as much as the next person, but I want my accomplishments to be genuine. I don’t just want to enjoy them, I want to have reason to enjoy them—which I don’t have if those accomplishments are illusions induced by the Matrix.³ As much as I sometimes think it sure would be nice to give up on reality, I don’t want to be Don Quixote.

But if I also resonate with the message of Man of La Mancha, which highlights the value of believing in an impossible ideal, why wouldn’t I plug in?

At one point Aldonza asks Sancho why he follows Don Quixote. After all, you’d think there wouldn’t be much reason to associate yourself with a guy who’s running around acting out a fantasy that’s clearly out of touch with reality, with everyone laughing at him. Sancho sings that he doesn’t “have a very good reason / since I’ve been with him, cuckoo-nuts have been in season … I don’t have a single good because or therefore.” It just comes down to this: “I like him / I really like him.”

Photo by this life's illusions on Unsplash (How great is it that I found a picture that makes reference to illusions?)

Sancho can’t really articulate it—but that’s what philosophers are for. In Man of La Mancha, only Don Quixote is actually deluded about reality. What’s going on here is that Sancho appreciates the effects of Don Quixote’s illusions. Neither he nor any of the other characters thinks for a second that anything is other than it is. They come to believe in a different interpretation of reality—not a different reality. Their kites are still tethered; they just learn from Don Quixote how to fly them. It’s not really the illusion itself that’s doing the work, it’s the hope and the optimism.

So I want to be Aldonza. She spends a great deal of the show resisting Don Quixtoe’s idealism, but in the end, she chooses to be Dulcinea. This isn’t a delusion on her part, however. She’s found Don Quixote’s view of her compelling, and because of him, she can see herself differently—and make herself different.⁴

I wouldn’t plug into the Matrix because fully disconnecting from reality gets things wrong, causing all kinds of problems. But our illusions let our hearts fly above reality a bit and give us a “kite’s-eye” view that can keep us going when reality is a little too real.

1. Given that I think love involves seeing someone for who they are, this could be interpreted as a plea to be loved—properly loved, not through Don Quixote’s illusion, which serves both to color his idea of love and his idea of Aldonza.

2. I realize that references to The Matrix don’t count as “modern” in the eyes of people younger than about 40. But I trust the the general idea has made its way into pop culture enough that most readers get the reference.

3. It’s true that if I were in the Matrix I’d believe that I’d actually accomplished things, and I would thus believe that I had reasons to enjoy my accomplishments. That’s what makes the thought experiment so interesting: it’s really hard to say exactly what I’d be losing if I plugged in.

4. I don’t for a moment claim that Aldonza’s transformation will be quick and easy. I have little patience for platitudes that tell us that attitude is everything. Nevertheless, I do think that with time and practice (and sometimes the help of a friend or a therapist), we can learn to see the world and ourselves differently, and it’s worth the work.