Humor, Gardens, and Candide

On my way to start reading Candide for the first time, I was diverted by a friend who asked me what book I was carrying around. I showed her the cover and mentioned that I really had no idea even what sort of book it was, much less what it was about. Surprisingly, just the sight of the cover was enough to incite an exclamation of delight from her. Very quickly, she began telling me how much she enjoyed reading the text in high school and how her teacher had read it aloud to the class. The novella, she said, was one of her favorite books, and I was sure to enjoy it. Just this was hard to swallow on its own, but she continued and insisted that it was actually a very funny story.

I didn't believe her.

I figured this was just the sort of thing that happens when you're walking around in an honors dorm while carrying around fine literature. After all, I do know for a fact someone down the hall from me is likely to list the Iliad amongst her favorite books. Well, I read the Iliad and it is far from making the cut for me. Maybe I'm showing a lack of culture, or an underdeveloped palate for quality writing, but I did not have high expectations for Candide. Even after the prologue insisted that Voltaire's "fun remains modern and relevant", I was skeptical. At this point, it was almost a goal to make it through the whole work without even cracking a smile. I had set my expectations and that was that.

Or so I thought.

I laughed before I had even read two sentences. Really, what kind of name is Baron Thunder-Ten-Tronckh? I continued to be amused on through the second paragraph and it got better from there. I thoroughly enjoyed Pangloss, an instructor of "metaphysico-theologico-cosmoloonigology" (again, what kind of science is that?!), and was disappointed to hear of his death. Now who would provide amusing philosophical nonsense for me to chortle at? Thankfully, Voltaire clearly knew my thoughts exactly and proceeded to bring Pangloss back from the grave with all the finesse of an elephant attempting open heart surgery. Voltaire was definitely abusing his abilities as writer and cared nothing for plot integrity or simple believability, but he clearly didn't care. And to be frank, neither did I. I was happy to have Pangloss back.

And then there was the woman who only had a single buttock having had the other removed to be eaten as a "rumpsteak". Truly, this is a horrible tragedy for the woman in question and I feel a little bad for being so highly amused, but I am. I was intrigued when it was mentioned early on that the old woman would ride a horse with only one buttock but I never imagined a reason such as the one finally given. This sort of unexpected and mildly absurd humor appeared often in Candide, complementing a story that was itself often unexpected and wholly unpredictable. I was delighted with it.

I do realize, of course, that there's an another whole layer to the story beneath that of the simple humor. The satire is both abundant and sarcastic and it is obvious that Voltaire had an agenda when writing this tale. I was interested by the portrayal and competition between the all-for-the-best philosophy and the nothing-for-the-best philosophy, and though I found myself siding with Candide and his bright optimism, I wasn't entirely satisfied with the belief. Something just wasn't right, but it wasn't that I disagreed, per se. As a part of my Christian beliefs, and without going too into depth, I do believe that God has a very big impact on the happenings in my life and is leading me towards what one might call the best of all possible worlds. So what is it that didn't set well with me about the way Candide lived out this particular philosophy?

My answer came at the end of the novel, when Candide has a sudden shift in behavior. Up until this point, Candide had always tried to explain away every event with Pangloss' best of all possible worlds’ philosophy. Nothing was outside of his reason and his focus on this philosophy was intense. Little was more important to him than probing the world in this abstract way, talking around every plot twist and random occurrence. This is not to say that there is anything inherently wrong with such behavior, but he seemed so often to neglect the substantial parts of life. He forewent actually living life for pondering about life, but at the end he finally got it. Needs of the concrete world are more pressing than that of the philosophical. At the end of the novella when Pangloss goes off again about the best of all possible worlds Candide still listens attentively but redirects the focus to the physical world, saying:

"That is very well put, but we must cultivate our garden."