Candide

“[…] all is for the best.” 

This phrase repeats frequently as Candide seeks to understand the meaning behind tragic events in his life and the lives of others. Voltaire uses the phrase in his satire to mock the optimistic philosophy that everything happens due to a divine (or cosmic) plan. When the idea is reduced to this simple phrase, it belies a blind acceptance for the way things are, no matter how unjust or preventable.

“First the cannon toppled about six thousand men on either side; then the muskets removed from the best of possible worlds between nine and ten thousand scoundrels who were infesting its surface. Next the bayonet proved sufficient reason for the death of a few thousand more. The total may well have amounted to thirty thousand or so corpses. Candide trembled like a philosopher, and concealed himself as best he could for the duration of this heroic butchery.” 

Voltaire describes the battle as seen through the eyes of Candide, who still perceives the world through the lens of Pangloss’ philosophy. The detached scientific language of cause-and-effect contrasts with the devastating (and terrifying) scene before Candide: thousands of human lives lost, which is rationalized by the optimistic belief that it is simply part of a cosmic order in which there could be no better outcome. 

“‘Oh Pangloss!’ cried Candide, ‘what a strange genealogy is this! Surely the devil is its source?’—‘Not in the least,’ replied that great man. ‘It is an indispensable feature of the best of all possible worlds, a necessary ingredient.’” 

Candide notes the strange “genealogy” of the venereal disease Pangloss has contracted (syphilis), this parallel genealogy being Voltaire’s sly critique that a benevolent God would not interfere with reproduction. As it was believed that syphilis came from the Americas, Pangloss’ reply ironically justifies his own inevitable death if the disease goes untreated, considering it a tradeoff for the luxury products Europeans enjoy from the New World. 

“‘All this is indispensable,’ countered the one-eyed doctor, ‘and private ills make up the general good, so that the greater the sum of private ills the better everything is.’”

Pangloss’ assertion that individual suffering contributes to the greater good is Voltaire’s mockery of Leibniz’s optimism, wherein the more evil there is in the world, the better the world will be. Voltaire uses irony to bring attention to the “one-eyed doctor”—both partially “blinded” to the truth, and justifying his own suffering from a disease for the greater good of the world. 

“‘This is all for the best,’ he said. ‘For if there is a volcano beneath Lisbon, then it cannot be anywhere else; for it is impossible for things to be elsewhere than where they are. For all is well.’”

In this chapter, Voltaire challenges the belief that all is for the best when 30,000 people living in Lisbon are lost in the earthquake of 1755. All is certainly not well as the city recovers, and although Pangloss seeks to comfort the people with his inverted logic, Voltaire questions whether a benevolent god would put a Volcano near so many people. This famous earthquake was proof for Voltaire that there was no divine cosmic order. 

“After the earthquake, which had destroyed three-quarters of Lisbon, the sages of that country could think of no more effective means of averting further destruction than to give the people a fine auto-da-fé; it having been decided by the University of Coïmbra that the spectacle of a few individuals being ceremonially roasted over a slow fire was the infallible secret recipe for preventing the earth from quaking.”

Superstition is mocked in this passage, where the locals use a forced profession of faith (the auto-da-fé) to prevent earthquakes as an excuse to kill heretics. The brutal killing by the local “sages” ironically parallels the cannibalism of “savages” encountered later in the text. As expected, the killing does not ward off further earthquakes; they immediately experience an aftershock following the torture of Candide and the killing of the others. 

“Pangloss deceived me cruelly, after all, when he told me that all is for the best in this world.”

At the end of her story, Cunégonde denounces Pangloss’ philosophy as cruel and untrue. Unlike Candide, who wrestles with this view throughout the text, Cunégonde can plainly see that her experience of violence, rape, and loss has not produced a better world for herself or others. 

“‘My dear young lady,’ replied Candide, ‘when you are in love, and jealous, and have been flogged by the Inquisition, there’s no knowing what you may do.’” 

Candide, who is often referred to in the book as “good” and later describes himself as mild mannered, has efficiently killed two men in the space of two minutes. Through Candide’s excuses here to Cunégonde, Voltaire argues that circumstance (and excellent military training among the Bulgar army) can change anyone’s “good” nature. 

“A hundred times I have wanted to kill myself, but I was still in love with life. This absurd weakness is perhaps one of our deadliest attachments: can anything be more foolish than to keep carrying a fardel and yet keep wanting to throw it to the ground? To hold one’s existence in horror, and yet cling to it?” 

The old woman addresses the question of suicide and why humans continue to keep living when her experience in the world has been so unfair and cruel. This “weakness” of loving life sustains her, just as it devours her; the “deadliest” attachment ironically being her will to continue living.

“Misfortunes confer their own privileges.”

As the Inquisition arrives in Buenos Aires, the old woman advises Cunégonde to stay with the Governor in Buenos Aires while Candide flees. Her pragmatic advice convinces the girl that her suffering has given her an excuse to act in her own best interest; it would be better to stay under the Governor’s protection than to pride herself on her loyalty. Essentially, the old woman argues that Cunégonde has already been raped, and two other men have kept her as a mistress, so she might as well use that to her advantage and take care of herself.

“Women are never at a loss; God sees to that; let’s go.”

Echoing the old woman’s pragmatic advice to Cunégonde, here Cacambo advises Candide to look out for himself and allow God to provide for the women. Indeed, the women manage to survive, but at what cost? In the world of Candide, a woman’s attractiveness, in a sense her status as a valuable object, is what keeps her alive. Voltaire questions the belief that God truly sees to the survival of women, when that survival is dependent on the forced sexual subjugation of women to a variety of unprincipled men. 

“‘What an extraordinary piece of insolence!’ retorted the Baron. ‘So you would have the effrontery to marry my sister, who has seventy-two quarterings on her coat of arms!’”

The Baron is astonished that Candide would seek to marry his sister, primarily because he is of lesser parentage (which is, ironically, likely the same parentage), which hardly matters at this point. The Baron maintains his position on principle, even though they have lost all the wealth that comes with their nobility and her virtue compromised, undermining the actual “value” of their noble parentage. 

“Let’s eat Jesuit! Let’s eat Jesuit!” 

This is a phrase that quickly became popular during Voltaire’s time, reflecting the anti-Jesuit feeling in France in the 18th century before the order was expelled. Here, the Oreillon tribe seeks to take their revenge on Candide and Cacambo, whom they mistakenly identify as Jesuits. It is this misidentification that Cacambo uses to convince the tribe to see them as friends, rather than enemies, and free them from imminent death.

“If I had not had the good luck to run my sword right through Cunégonde’s brother, I would have been eaten alive without fail. After all, it seems that the state of nature is a good thing, since these people, instead of eating me, showed me a thousand civilities just as soon as they knew I was not a Jesuit.” 

Candide’s conclusions lack logical structure, as he fails to recognize that it was his murdering the Baron that caused him to flee towards this tribe, and it was only by Cacambo’s smart rhetoric (which has likewise tricked Candide) that saved them from being eaten. Candide’s logic hides Voltaire’s satirical critique of Rousseau’s praise of the natural man, for man in a “state of nature” almost killed the two men, and it was deceptive rhetoric that saved them.

“This speech appealed to Cacambo: so pleasant it is to be on the move, to get ourselves noticed back home, and to boast of what we have seen on our travels, that our two happy wanderers resolved to be happy no longer and to seek His Majesty’s permission to depart.” 

After spending some time in Eldorado, these are the arguments Candide makes to Cacambo for leaving the utopian paradise they found, translated through Voltaire’s narrator. Certainly, there is the desire to rescue Cunégonde that drives Candide, but the prospect of traveling again, and above all, gaining some notoriety and power back home, is too much to resist. Voltaire’s narrator puts it plainly in observing that the two choose to reject happiness, in a society were social hierarchy matters little, to return to one where they think they can finally rule from the top. 

“I am no genealogist; but if these preachers are telling the truth, then we are all second cousins. In which case you must admit that no one could treat his relatives much more horribly than this.” 

In this tragic account of the enslaved man on the road to Surinam, Candide is so deeply moved he is brought to tears by the man’s suffering. Voltaire uses this episode to criticize the slave trade and the inhumane use of enslaved people on sugar plantations, pointing out that Africans are also part of the “family” of humanity and should be treated as well as one would their own relatives. In this case, the irony is that the man’s own family has sold him into slavery, with the slave trade turning literal family members against one another. 

“Private griefs are crueller even than public miseries. In short, I have seen so much, and endured so much, that I am become a Manichean.” 

Recalling Pangloss’ earlier teaching that private suffering contributes to the greater good, here Voltaire riffs on that with Martin, saying that all men suffer privately, even those who seem the happiest. Martin’s philosophy of Manicheanism provides a highly pessimistic spin on Pangloss’ optimism.

“‘But don’t you think,’ replied Martin, ‘that hawks have always eaten pigeons when they come across them?’—‘Without a doubt,’ said Candide.—‘Well, then,’ said Martin, ‘if hawks have always had the same nature, why do you expect men to have changed theirs?’” 

Martin takes up Voltaire’s position that humanity’s essential nature will never change, no matter the circumstance or era. His position is an attack on the idea that man was created as good, but that modernity has corrupted his spirit. Candide attempts a rebuttal to this argument by pointing to man’s “free will,” which Voltaire’s narrator abruptly interrupts. 

“In this country it is considered useful now and again to shoot an admiral, to encourage the others.”

In this episode, which references the real-life English’s loss to the French in battle, and the execution of Admiral John Byng for insufficiently engaging with the enemy, Voltaire expresses his real anger at the English for killing one of their own to appease the public. One of Candide’s most quoted phrases, “to encourage the others,” expresses a verbal irony, where something ostensibly done as an encouragement is carried out as a warning to others.

“‘But,’ said Candide, ‘isn’t there a pleasure in being critical, in discovering faults where other men think they see excellences?’—‘Which is to say,’ countered Martin, ‘that there is pleasure to be had in not taking pleasure?’—‘Oh, whatever you like!’ said Candide.” 

Candide attempts to put a positive spin on their visit to the wealthy Venetian Senator Pococurante, who takes no pleasure in all the wealth and possessions he owns. Candide tries to assert that there is a pleasure in being critical and finding fault in things, but Martin once again calls him on his optimism. The visit comes on the heels of their sad encounter with Paquette and Brother Girofleo, proving Martin’s earlier point that private sorrows are even worse than public suffering.

“Six deposed Kings, if you please! All of whom supped with us, and one of whom had to accept alms from me. Perhaps there are any number of other princes who are even more unfortunate. As for me, all I have lost is a hundred sheep, and here I am flying to the arms of Cunégonde. My dear Martin, once again I see that Pangloss was right: all is well.”

Despite having renounced Pangloss’ philosophy of optimism, when things are going well for Candide, he inevitably falls back on the position. Here, he conveniently forgets that he not only lost 100 sheep but the enormous wealth they were carrying for him, glossing over his own suffering to declare that all is well. He likewise ignores the suffering of others with his declaration, for as Voltaire has reminded the reader throughout the text, optimism requires one to disregard individual suffering to justify a greater good.

“Martin in particular came to the conclusion that man was born to endure either the convulsions of anxiety or the lethargy of boredom. Candide did not agree with this, but he did not press the point. Pangloss conceded that he had suffered horribly, all his life, but having once maintained that everything was going splendidly he would continue to do so, while believing nothing of the kind.” 

As the group reunites and finds themselves miserable together, isolated on their provincial farm, Pangloss finally admits that he does not believe a word of his philosophy and has only maintained it because he believed he should. The hypocrisy of the philosophy, which seems to self-perpetuate, and of philosophers who maintain abstract truths in the face of real-life contradictions, is revealed by the narrator in this moment. Where there is now no good in life, only anxiety and boredom, even Martin’s view becomes more pessimistic, but Candide remains skeptical.

“‘I have but twenty acres,’ replied the Turk. ‘I cultivate them with my children; our work keeps at bay the three great evils: boredom, vice, and necessity.’

Back on his little farm, Candide reflected deeply on the words of the Turk.” 

After their unsuccessful visit to a dervish, seeking answers to the purpose of man, the simple farmer’s reflections on his own life gives Candide a new perspective on life. For perhaps the first time, Candide “reflected deeply” on these words, rather than verbally sparring with another, and concludes that cultivating their own lives would be preferable to even that of a king. This change improves all their lives, from Paquette and Cunégonde, who respectively take up embroidery and pastries, to Girofleo, who becomes an excellent carpenter and “good company” (93).