Two Philosophers Debate at Sea — Candide

The old philosopher, whose name is Martin, embarks with Candide for Bordeaux. Both have seen and suffered a great deal. If the vessel had sailed from Surinam to Japan by the Cape of Good Hope, moral and natural evil would have fed the talk the whole way. Candide has one advantage: he always hopes to see Cunegonde. Martin has nothing at all to hope. Candide still has money and jewels. He has lost a hundred large red sheep, and the Dutch skipper still sits heavy on his mind, yet when he reckons what remains, and when he names Cunegonde toward the end of a repast, he inclines to Pangloss's doctrine.

He asks Martin for his ideas on moral and natural evil. Priests accused Martin of being a Socinian; the real fact is he is a Manichean. Candide says there are no longer Manicheans in the world. Martin cannot help it; he knows not how to think otherwise. When he casts an eye on this little ball, he cannot help thinking God has abandoned it to some malignant being. He excepts, always, El Dorado. He has scarcely known a city that did not desire the destruction of a neighbouring city, nor a family that did not wish to exterminate another. Everywhere the weak execrate the powerful, before whom they cringe, and the powerful beat them like sheep whose wool and flesh they sell. A million regimented assassins, from one end of Europe to the other, get their bread by disciplined depredation and murder, for want of more honest employment. Even in cities that seem at peace, envy, care, and uneasiness devour the inhabitants more than a siege. Secret griefs are more cruel than public calamities. He has seen so much, and experienced so much, that he is a Manichean. There are, however, some things good, says Candide. That may be, says Martin; but I know them not.

In the middle of the dispute they hear cannon. Two ships fight about three miles off. The wind brings both near enough for ease. One lets off a broadside so low and so truly aimed that the other sinks. A hundred men on the deck raise their hands to heaven, utter terrible outcries, and are swallowed up. Well, says Martin, this is how men treat one another. There is something diabolical in this affair, says Candide. Then he sees a shining red thing in the water. They put out the long-boat. It is one of his sheep. He is more rejoiced at this one than he had been grieved at the loss of the hundred laden with El Dorado's diamonds. The victor is a Spaniard; the sunk ship is the Dutch pirate, the very man who robbed him. The plunder is buried with the knave; only the sheep is saved. Candide says crime is sometimes punished. Martin asks why the passengers were doomed as well. God has punished the knave, and the devil has drowned the rest. The French and Spanish ships hold their course. Candide and Martin dispute fifteen successive days and on the last are as far advanced as on the first. They chat, they communicate, they console each other. Candide caresses his sheep. Since I have found thee again, he says, I may likewise chance to find my Cunegonde.