Candide: How Voltaire Won the War

Opening the novella would be the equivalent of laying down my gun.  Reading the first line would be waving a white flag of surrender in the face of a laughing and mocking Voltaire, admitting defeat after four years of battle.  Four years ago, I, Erin McDonald, declared a personal war on Voltaire; not just Voltaire, but on any philosopher who attempted to analyze and persuade me of the meaning of life and the nature of man.  In my opinion, none of these “renowned” men of “genius” has a better explanation for life or mankind than any another, hiding behind abstract ideas and rhetorical devices to disguise their inability to adequately construct an irrefutable argument.  I decided on day that I would have no more of this nonsense.  I resolved that I would never again waste my time reading the works of philosophers who knew no more than I did about life and mankind.  So when Dr. Williams instructed our class to read this novella, he was also asking me to end the battle, surrendering to Voltaire and his contemporaries after years of continuous battle.  But in the end, I resolved to partially surrender.  I would read the novella, only to fulfill the requirements of the course, but I was determined to refrain from finding any pleasure in the pages as I read.  I would read because I had no other option.  With this mindset, and a hot cup of tea, I sat down in my dorm room to begin what was certain to be a miserable reading experience. 

Anticipating empty attempts to analyze life and mankind, I was astonished to begin reading about a love story.  Somehow, in all my years of public school education, my teacher never explored this side of Voltaire.  This blitz attack immediately grabbed my interest despite my best attempts to avoid enjoyment of the text. This was a sneaky maneuver by Voltaire, baiting me, the reader, with the establishment of a doomed love story.  While I silently complemented Voltaire on his cleverness, I was fortunately able to distance myself from the text and retain my pessimistic attitude towards the author.  But as I continued to read, it was as if Voltaire was launching a full frontal assault.  I could not keep myself from diving into the story, experiencing joy and devastation as the characters experienced great joy and great tragedy.  I found myself laughing at Voltaire’s satire in spite of my best attempts to maintain a stone demeanor.   I felt my defenses weakening until I finally succumbed to the pressures of my adversary and began exploring Voltaire’s analysis of life and of man.  As I began jotting notes in the margins, comparing and contrasting the characters’ philosophies with my own, I knew the war was over.  Voltaire had won in a triumphant and literarily genius fashion.  As if to remind me of his victory, my cup of tea remained untouched in front of me, ice cold from the hours I spent engrossed in reading Voltaire’s novella.

There were two particular passages especially meaningful for me.  The first occurred during Candide’s exchange with Martin, Candide’s traveling companion who views man as naturally evil and the world as a dark, tragic place.  Candide asks Martin if he believes that “everything is for the best in the physical as well as the moral universe” (p.51).  Martin, unable to see the merit of Candide’s inherited philosophy from the optimistic Pangloss, refuses the proposed notion and instead states that “everything goes wrong in our world” (p.51).  In response to this, Candide states that “troubles are just the shadows in a beautiful picture”, which Martin retorts with the argument that “the shadows are horrible ugly blots” (p.51).  I immediately stopped after reading Martin’s response and was forced to reread the exchange several times in order to grasp the philosophy of each character.  My heart longed to agree with Candide, to find optimism in pain and tragedy, to hope that in time, all suffering will prove mere shadows in comparison to the beauty and joy one experiences in life.  I desperately wanted to take Candide’s side, to proclaim my affirmation in happy endings, yet I found myself reading truth in Martin’s argument.  Can pain and tragedy actually complement joy and happiness?  Must both exist to form the beautiful picture we call life?  Or, as Martin states, do tragedy and pain simply mar the canvas of the otherwise ideal and perfect life?  My faith almost requires me to agree with Candide, to see every moment of pain as promise of an eventual artistic masterpiece painted by God, but I still found myself questioning Martin’s logic.  Will it ever be possible for me to see the death of a loved one or a personal tragedy as a complementary shadow on my canvas of life?  This personalization of the argument made by Candide makes Martin’s logic more difficult to refute.   It seems more realistic, more logical, for the pain that stems from death and tragedy to be an ugly blot that mars the canvas of an otherwise joyous life.

The second passage that I connected with led me to view Voltaire as a friend, as another person whose opinion of philosophers is almost as negative as my own.  When discussing the works of various philosophers with Count Pococurante, Candide insists that the Count must find literary merit in the works of some of history’s most influential philosophers and writers; however, the Count quickly dismisses this notion as he discredits various renowned works as either ramblings or sources of pure boredom.  The Count describes his opinion of Cicero, Roman philosopher of “advanced” opinion, as follows: “I might like his philosophical works better, but when I saw that he had doubts about everything, I concluded that I knew as much as he did, and that I needed no help to be ignorant” (p.61).  I could not have said it better myself.  With all the world’s philosophers circulating their various philosophies, I believe more questions are raised than are answered.  I have discovered that most philosophies have gaping holes in one area or another, leaving me with explanations that answer no more than I could have answered myself.  I laughed aloud when I read this line and immediately cultivated a respect and sense of comradery with my once sworn enemy, Voltaire.

Personally, I found this novella extremely entertaining due to its satirical humor, tragic love story, and exaggerated characterization; but the reason I believe that this novella exemplifies literature is because it encouraged me to look at life and the nature of man through a new lens, with a different perspective.  This piece of literature poked holes in my own seemingly “air tight” theories, forcing me to question my own convictions and ultimately strengthening my own faith.  While I found Martin logical and reasonable, my faith in a God who makes all things work together for ultimate good prevailed.  I have faith that God is in control of every circumstance in life and that a day will come when the evil on this Earth will be vanquished once and for all.  I don’t have answers for the current pain and suffering of endured in this world or explanations for tragedies that seem to befall the innocent; all I have is my faith.  Though many may regard my faith as ludicrous as Pangloss’s determinative optimism, it is what guides my life and gives me hope.