I am an optimist.
I have been an optimist for a long time. I´m tempted to say that I have been an optimist as long as I can remember, but I suspect that I made a conscious choice to be an optimist when I was around 12 or 13 years old.
I have two memories related to the question of optimism from around the same time.
The first is of a teacher I had in grade 7 and 8, who was a very strict, very Catholic Italian-Quebecois spinster. Her name was Mademoiselle Rizzi. Although I was always an unruly student, she had my respect and I acted up very little in her class. I vaguely remember her teaching us about optimism, pessimism and realism, which I doubt was part of the curriculum. In retrospect, I think that she was passing along her own life lessons.
I think the fact that I remember this shows that it had an influence on my thinking. I remember thinking about the matter and agreeing with my teacher that the intellectual attitude that a person has towards the world matters a great deal.
This to me seems self-evident: All things being equal, the optimist has an advantage over the pessimist, because the person who defers too easily to despair will be quicker to give up.
The second memory I have from around this time relates to a special bookcase that was located near the front door of the house I grew up in.
When I was 12 or 13, I asked my father to recommend me a book from his special bookcase. I was at an age where I no longer thought of myself as a child, and wanted to explore great literature. This bookcase, made of fine wood and protected by a glass door, housed the oldest and most valuable books he owned. More than that, however, it was a showcase of his personal taste – specifically of which books he considered to be great. The bookcase was home to the complete works of Shakespeare, for example, and various classic works of philosophy, theology, and history. The French existentialists were well-represented, as were the great Russian authors like Tolstoy, Dostoeysky, and Anton Chekhov, my namesake. Modernists like Joyce and Hemingway had their place, as did radicals like Ellul and Orwell. Likewise was it home to a massive King James Bible that my parents had received as a wedding present, as well as various books that had a place of honour because of some special significance they had to my parents.
Anyway, I remember that my dad was quite pleased in the interest that I took in his books. He was a journalist who also wrote fiction (though he never published any). More importantly, he believed in the value of literature and surely felt that it was a good sign I was interested in good books.
Anyway, he deliberated over his choice, and finally selected one called Candide (or Optimism), the best-known fictional work of Voltaire, the great philosopher of the French Revolution.
Perhaps he chose it because it is short, or because it begins with a young man curious philosophy, or because great ideas are explored within the context of a gripping adventure story. In any case, he chose well. I devoured the book, and loved it. Looking back now, I have to wonder how much this book influenced me at this young age.
The alternate title of Candide is Optimism, and it is considered a satire of the philosophical optimism of Leibnitz.
In the story, the young Candide, presumed to be the illegitimate nephew of the Baron of Westphalia, is tutored by a reknown philosopher named Pangloss, who teaches him that we live in the best of all possible worlds. The youngster, who is a gifted and trusting student, has no trouble at all believing this, as he lives in a beautiful castle where he eats well, is treated well, and is the favourite pupil of a gifted teacher.
The good fortunes of our hero are to change drastically, however, when he falls in love withCunegonde, the daughter of the Baron. After being caught kissing her, Candide is expelled from the castle, the only home he has ever known.
The rest of the story catalogues one misfortune after another. The protagonist is kidnapped by Bulgarian soldiers and forced into military service, beaten until he begs to be killed, is imprisoned various times, survives an earthquake, and runs afoul of the Inquisition, to name just a few of his troubles. Trials and tribulations assail him one after another.
Throughout it all, he maintains an optimism that is charmingly innocent, and one cannot help feeling a great admiration for the grace with which he endures his suffering.
Perhaps, at my young age, I did not grasp that the optimism in question was being lampooned. I drew the conclusion that it was better to be optimistic than to give oneself up to despair. It is true that the hopes of Candide are often in vain, yet his optimism allows him to endure trials that would cause a lesser man to give himself up for lost. Perhaps others have drawn the conclusion that Voltaire was mocking optimism as self-delusion, but my conclusion was still that optimism is preferable to whatever the alternatives are.
It`s worth noting that Candide does, in fact, have a happy ending, and one that is easily seared into the memory by the beauty of is famous final line.
We Must Cultivate Our Garden
In the end, Candide is reunited with Cunegonde, the love of his life, though he is dismayed to find that the intervening years have left her very ugly. Nevertheless, he marries her and winds up living with her (along with Pangloss and several friends) on a small farm near Constantinople. Though they are at first restless and unhappy, they eventually meet a Muslim farmer who invites them into his home, and impresses them all by his apparent happiness. The old man explains:
"I have only twenty acres," replied the old man; "I and my children cultivate them; our labour preserves us from three great evils—weariness, vice, and want.¨
Candide, along with his wife and friends, resolve to emulate the Muslim´s example, and to live lives of voluntary simplicity. As Pangloss declares "when man was first placed in the Garden of Eden, he was put there that he might cultivate it; which shows that man was not born to be idle."
Their friend agrees, saying: "Let us work without disputing; it is the only way to render life tolerable."
And so that´s what they do. The story concludes with this passage, ending with its famous final line, which ties the entire moral of the story up with ribbon and bow.
The whole little society entered into this laudable design, according to their different abilities. Their little plot of land produced plentiful crops. Cunegonde was, indeed, very ugly, but she became an excellent pastry cook; Paquette worked at embroidery; the old woman looked after the linen. They were all, not excepting Friar Giroflée, of some service or other; for he made a good joiner, and became a very honest man.
Pangloss sometimes said to Candide:
"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 love of Miss Cunegonde: if you had not been put into the Inquisition: if you had not walked over America: if you had not stabbed the Baron: if you had not lost all your sheep from the fine country of El Dorado: you would not be here eating preserved citrons and pistachio-nuts."
"All that is very well," answered Candide, "but let us cultivate our garden."
Great writing and carefully chosen illustrations!