These chapters are particularly interesting because in them Voltaire described two utopian states of sorts. It has been argued that life at the castle in Westphalia was utopian for Candide prior to the difficulty that led to his expulsion. But the utopias in this section are more easily identified as such. The first is the Jesuit utopia in Paraguay, where the Fathers had established a theocratic tyranny. One might very well call it a counter-utopia because it was an ideal state only if one were a Jesuit in the country. It was Cacambo who, not without irony, first described the utopia in glowing terms: "It is an admirable thing, this government. Los Padres (the Fathers) have everything and the people nothing; it is a masterpiece of reason and justice." The splendor in which the Jesuits of Paraguay lived was well illustrated by the description of the commandant's arbor, with its colonnade in green and gold marble. And it will be recalled that Candide was served an excellent breakfast prepared in vessels of gold, whereas the native Paraguayans ate corn in wooden bowls out in the open fields under the blazing sun. Yes, for Los Padres, life was indeed utopian as long as the theocratic government survived.
The second utopia in this section is that of the Oreillons, who existed in a pure state of nature, uncontaminated by manmade Western civilization; Jesuit Paraguay was beyond the borders of their land. All this relates to the concept of the noble savage, which became increasingly popular in the latter half of the eighteenth century. The idea was that nature itself was benign and good; let man live in a state of pure nature and he in turn will be good. Pangloss had embraced this philosophy of primitivism, as we learn from Candide. The name Oreillons derives from the Spanish Orejones, which indicates "pierced ears" or "big ears." Voltaire remained ironical in his account of these utopians. Understandably, Candide began to question all that had been taught him about "natural" man when it appeared that Oreillons were going to boil or roast him, but once his life was spared because he was not a Jesuit, he was no longer doubtful. The obvious conclusion is that the primitive people are no better nor no worse than so-called civilized people. Both are capable of great cruelty.
To be sure Voltaire did not lose any opportunity for anti-religious satire. Warring churchmen especially were his target here. It was a nice touch for him to report that the Jesuit commandant had been to Mass and then had hurried to the parade ground. The intelligence that the practical, ingenious Cacambo had been successively a choirboy, sacristan, and monk, as well as merchant's agent, soldier, and lackey, has its place in carrying forward the satire. And in Chapter XIII, we learn that a Franciscan in truth had stolen Cunégonde's money and jewels and was hanged when the jewels were recognized as having belonged to another churchman, the Grand Inquisitor. Related to all this is Voltaire's rejection of the Providential theory, that of a benign deity who is constantly concerned with the lot of mankind. This is implicit in Cacambo's remark that Cunégonde would be safe: women are never helpless, for God looks after them. Recall all that had happened to Cunégonde since the Bulgarian attack on her father's castle. Finally, when Cacambo was made to say that it is natural for one to kill his enemies, Voltaire underscored his belief that so many people give only lip service to the religion they profess.
Voltaire once more found the opportunity to satirize wittily inordinate pride and vanity. Note the pretentious list of names used by the governor of Buenos Aires, who never dreamed that Cunégonde or any woman would reject his offer of marriage. He spoke to his men "with the noblest disdain, his nose in the air, his voice raised pitilessly." Add to this the Jesuit baron's reaction to Candide's announcement that he expected to marry the aristocratic Cunégonde—he, a commoner, and she, a baron's daughter with seventy-two quarterings to the family coat of arms!
Personal satire finds a place in these chapters. It will be remembered that, in the person of the original baron in Westphalia, Voltaire was poking fun at Frederick the Great. And we were told that the son, whom we now have met as the Jesuit commandant, was much like his father. Therefore, the portrait of that son in Chapter XV again includes satire of the Prussian king. This is true not only with reference to a preoccupation with military activities, especially drill and parades, but with reference to the alleged moral character of Frederick. The Jesuit baron told Candide that he had been a "pretty" youth whom the Superior of the Jesuit house found most attractive and who advanced him accordingly. And when he learned the identity of Candide, his words and actions were those one would expect a man to reserve for a woman whom he adored; he never tired of embracing Candide.
The episode involving the monkeys has its place in the realm of satire. It may well be said that Voltaire was pointing up the bestiality in mankind. According to Cacambo, monkeys are one-fourth human. Voltaire apparently had in mind the traditional view of man, who on the hierarchical scale occupied a place equidistant between that of the beast (representing the rejection of reason) and that of the angel (representing pure reason). If this be true, then the love of the young ladies for the monkeys could represent man's rejection of reason and his descent on the hierarchical scale.
Last, Voltaire's account here makes it only too clear that he found evil essentially unavoidable. The basically good, well-meaning Candide found it necessary again to kill a man, and another churchman at that. He thus was responsible for the death of three men, this innocent who had been schooled to believe that all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds.
