"When death crowns the ills of a suffering man,
what a fine consolation to be eaten by worms."
~ Voltaire
The Power of Ideas:
"Theodicy is the defense of God's goodness and . . . all-powerfulness . . . in view of
apparent evil. Many theologians and philosophers have written theodicies. But one of
the most important theodicies was that of Leibniz."
The following is a four-page, analytical review of Voltaire's satirical novel, Candide,
in which he attacks Leibniz and his philosophy concerning the "Problem of Evil."
To Be Eaten By Worms
by James Eric Watkins
Many accept Leibniz’s principle of sufficient reason, a reverse reasoning: an endless
chain of causation, concluding that something, some supreme being, some uncaused
force set this chain of events in motion, as proof of God’s existence, an argument of the
cosmological type. And, as most do, Leibniz viewed God as omnipotent and purely
good. But if God is all-powerful and all good, how does the darker side of the world
factor into the equation, this "Problem of Evil," this undeniable existence of human
suffering that seems to contradict this notion of God, of ultimate goodness? How did this
German philosopher rationalize unsavory flavors left on the lips of contemplation?
As mentioned in The Power of Ideas "Leibniz’s explanation, briefly, is that for God to
create things other than himself, the created things logically must be limited and
imperfect . . . that one must look at evil from a global perspective, from which
unfortunate events might be perceived as part of a larger fabric that, taken as a whole,
is a perfect creation" (409). In "Candide," Voltaire lunges for the throat of Leibniz’s
philosophy, in regard to the "Problem of Evil," (as well as otherwise) with a sarcastic
tone, loosening his fingers slightly to allow Leibniz’s aphorism, "This is the best of all
possible worlds," to resurface throughout the novel.
First I have to point out that Voltaire definitely wastes no time in reaching for the pen
of sarcasm. In the very first sentence of the very first chapter, laying the groundwork for
future irony, Candide is described as "a youth, whom nature had endowed with the
most gentle manners"; Elevating the character (in both senses) of the young man, he
goes on to say: "His countenance was a true picture of his soul," and that "He
combined a true judgement with simplicity of spirit"; dipping the tip of his pen again,
Voltaire takes another quick, short jab at his work by the naming of the main character,
"which was the reason . . . of his being called Candide" (1). A disciple of, a projection,
a representation of, Leibniz, Pangloss "was a professor of metaphysico-theologico-
cosmo-nigology" (1). And, like with Candide, Voltaire gives the philosopher
decipherable meaning in his name: " . . . Pangloss is derived from two greek words
signifying ‘all’ and ‘language’"(91). All within the context of one sentence, the former
suggesting a too widely-ranged area of study to be a professor of, while both of these
instances imply areas that are very broad and must be spoken of in the most general of
terms, another sarcastic stroke.
Again, on page one, speaking of Pangloss: "He proved admirably that there is no effect
without a cause . . . ."(1). Voltaire seems to be saying, Really, with this statement,
pointing out the obvious, since one, by logical reasoning, precedes the other. Eliminating
the idea of free will, any sense of autonomy in our own destiny, Pangloss says, "‘It is
demonstrable . . . that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for all being created
for an end, all is necessarily for the best end’" (1). Of course, Candide was driven from
his best of all possible castles and separated from Cunegonde by way of kicks to the
rump by the Baron.
Moving on, after many troublesome occurrences, he is reunited with Cunegonde.
Candide sets sail with Cunegonde, the old woman, and two valets; on their trip they
discuss Pangloss’s philosophy, and seem to be searching for this best of all possible
worlds: "‘We are going into another world,’ said Candide; ‘and surely it must be there
that all is for the best’" (23). Cunegonde expresses her love for him, but says that her
soul remains sorrowful for all of the misfortune and heartache that she has suffered.
"‘All will be well,’ replied Candide; ‘the sea of this new world is already better . . .
calmer, the winds more regular. It is certainly the New World which is the best of all
possible worlds’" (23). Candide’s optimism (via Leibniz’s aphorism) doesn’t appear to
be much comfort to Cunegonde as she replies in a most melancholy way. The old
woman is astonished by her complaint in light of her own sufferings and says so. And
Cunegonde, after relaying all of her misfortunes to the old woman, who was sent by her
to nurse Candide to health and deliver him to her, was about to hear a story that made
her own seem smaller in anguish.
Voltaire implements the aspect of a beautiful beginning for the old woman, to make her
story more outlandish and fantastically cruel, much more than that of lady Cunegonde’s.
Almost at the peek of the young old woman’s happiness, that same happiness began to
descend, suddenly, after the death of her husband as a result of being poisoned by his
mistress. Shortly after aboard a galley: "A Sallee corsair swooped down and boarded
us . . . Instantly they were stripped as bare as monkeys; my mother, our maids of
honour, and myself were all served in the same manner" (24, 25). From being attacked,
made a slave, seeing her mother pulled apart by the limbs, her "flower," her virginity
stolen, her buttock cut off, and much more, it is quite clear that she had an abundance of
human suffering that far outweighed her master’s, that is Cunegonde’s. Her level of
suffering seems to illustrate the point that, Voltaire was saying, it is absurd to view such
suffering as this as "evil" but also as a meaningful part of a larger whole of goodness.
Indeed: to be eaten by worms.
Candide is reunited with Cunegonde’s brother, and Voltaire once again dips his pen
into the ink of irony. After recalling a terrible memory in which his mother and father
were killed, his sister ravaged and molested, kidnaped; how he was thrown into a
hearse and thought to be dead; how a Jesuit sprinkled salty, holy water into his eyes,
stirring him to be saved and treated; and finally how he moved up through the ranks of
the Jesuits, he then enquires about his sister being nearby with the Governor of Buenos
Ayres. Mentioning to Candide that they should enter the town side by side to rescue
Cunegonde, victoriously (35). Candide agrees and professes his intent to marry her.
The two men exchange words: Candide maintaining that he would marry her regardless
of nobility, and Cunegonde’s brother exclaiming that that occurrence would not prove to
be possible (in the best of all possible worlds no less). The talk comes to an end with the
Jesuit Baron de Thunder-ten-Tronckh striking Candide with the flat of his sword.
Candide unsheathes his own sword and shoves it into his would-be brother-in-law.
Withdrawing his sword, he begins to weep: "‘Good God!’ said he, ‘I have killed my old
master, my friend, my brother-in-law! I am the best-natured creature in the world, and
yet I have already killed three men. . . ." (36). And here we see the aforementioned
irony. Are we to believe that this was for the best?
Having been separated from Pangloss, found him again, and having witnessed his
hanging (although not a very good one since the executioner was used to killing in
another fashion), Candide is surprised to find him as a galley-slave. Candide purchases
his freedom. After Pangloss’s horrible account of how he came to be as such to satisfy
his liberator’s curiosity, Candide asks: "‘Well, my dear Pangloss . . . when you had been
hanged, dissected, whipped, and were tugging at the oar, did you always think that
everything happens for the best?’", he answers: "‘I am still of my first opinion . . . I am a
philosopher and I cannot retract, especially as Leibniz could never be wrong. . . .’"(81).
This conversational exchange is, as Brooke Noel Moore or Kenneth Bruder might put
it, dripping with sarcasm. And I, myself, see a resurfacing.
And at last, after all their troublesome travels are over, they have their lives, each
other, a garden, a worn-out aphorism and a philosophy choked nearly out of existence
by sarcasm, and some simple but fulfilling advice from an honest Turk. From the last
page of Candide, "Pangloss sometimes said . . . ‘There is a concatenation of events in
this best of all possible worlds: for if you had not been kicked out of a magnificent castle
for the love of Miss Cunegonde: if you had not been put into the Inquisition: if you had
not walked over America: if you had not had stabbed the baron: if you had not . . . All
that is well’ answered Candide, ‘but let us cultivate out own garden’" (87). All in all, the
world is chaotic, random, and just plain cruel to some of us, and to tell us that our
suffering is somehow bestowed upon us to further some global good isn’t much comfort.
It is up to us to find the optimism in the world, at least in our tiny portion of it, at least
in our own gardens.
