American Dream The Great Gatsby By F. Scott Fitzgerald

Jamie Moran English 096 Professor Ludwig 10 November 2014 American Dream The ideal American Dream is that every citizen in the U.S. may have a promising future, happiness, a family, and health. Some reach the American Dream, and some settle for less. People who do not obtain any type of American Dream cannot truly be happy because their life is not truly fulfilled, which does not satisfy their ambition. Jay Gatsby, a young man who over came poverty, and achieved the ideal American Dream but fell in love with a young lady, is like a bow and arrow, his love from Daisy pushed him to achieve what he has now and did anything and everything he could to achieve what he wanted. In reality, most Americans settle for something other than what is promised to them. In the book The Great Gatsby by Scott Fitzgerald, people did not notice that Jay Gatsby, a young man who over came poverty, and achieved the ideal American Dream but fell in love with a young lady, encompassed the idea of the American Dream. Many people thought Gatsby obtained the typical American Dream: money, luxury, and happiness, but Gatsby himself was not truly happy because he did not fully obtain what he wanted his American dream to be, which was to be with Daisy. In the Great Gatsby, happiness is not obtained, for many reasons. Everyone is suffocated by being wealthy, and competing with each other that they do not notice the consequences that lie ahead of them. Daisy was so blinded by luxury and wealth that she didShow MoreRelatedThe American Dream in The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald1129 Words   |  5 Pageseconomy began to soar, and the notion of the American dream began to take effect. The American Dream is the idea that anyone can come from any background and no matter who they are, if they work hard and stay true to themselves, they can achieve their dreams. The Great Gatsby, set in the early twenties, displays that socio-economic power is obtained through inheritance, forming an aristocracy of power and wealth. The Great Gatsby, written by F. Scott Fitzgerald, demonstrates how geography and locationRead MoreThe American Dream in The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald1082 Words   |  5 PagesThe 1920’s was a time of g reat change to both the country lived in as well as the goals and ambitions that were sought after by the average person. During this time, priorities shifted from family and religion to success and spontaneous living. The American dream, itself, changed into a self centered and ongoing personal goal that was the leading priority in most people’s lives. This new age of carelessness and naivety encompasses much of what this earlier period is remembered for. In additionRead More The American Dream in The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald2776 Words   |  12 PagesIntroduction The â€Å"Great Gatsby† is a very twisted and convoluted novel which was written by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It has been written in late 1925, the characters in the novel focus upon a fictional town of West Egg. The plot of the story depends over the mystifying millionaire, Jay Gatsby, who has an impetuous enthusiasm for one of the most beautiful women in town, Daisy Buchanan. The theme of the novel focuses upon the American Dream that shares the experiences of the revival of the World WarRead MoreThe American Dream : F. Scott Fitzgerald s The Great Gatsby1329 Words   |  6 PagesAn American Illusion After the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 was implemented in America, many immigrants from China, Japan, and India were stripped of their pursuit of the American Dream at Angel Island. The immigration station’s detainment of these rejected dreamers destroyed stories before they could happen. These stories of opportunity and the fulfillment of the American Dream make America what it is today. For instance, many immigrants today who are lucky enough to settle into America enterRead More Corruption of the American Dream in the Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald1438 Words   |  6 Pages Broken Dreams and Fallen Themes In The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald employs the use of characters, themes, and symbolism to convey the idea of the American Dream and its corruption through the aspects of wealth, family, and status. In regards to wealth and success, Fitzgerald makes clear the growing corruption of the American Dream by using Gatsby himself as a symbol for the corrupted dream throughout the text. In addition, when portraying the family the characters in Great Gatsby are used to exposeRead MoreThe American Dream : F. Scott Fitzgerald s The Great Gatsby1362 Words   |  6 PagesGatsby Corrupted Dream The American Dream is originally thought to be about how hard work can lead one person from poorness to richness with the right amount of effort put in. The American Dream can have different meaning to different people but at the end they are all trying to achieve a goal. The American Dream usually requires hard work and dedication. But cheating your way to success can change a person. An example of a distorted American Dream would be F. Scott Fitzgerald s The Great GatsbyRead MoreCorruption of the American Dream in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald855 Words   |  4 Pages In the novel The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald gives the reader a glimpse into the life of the high class during the 1920’s through the eyes of a man named Nick Carraway. Through the narrators dealings with high society, Fitzgerald demonstrates how modern values have transformed the American dreams ideas into a scheme for materialistic power and he reveals how the world of high society lacks any sense of morals or consequence. In order to support his message, Fitzgerald presents the originalRead MoreCorrupted American Dream in the Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald1389 Words   |  6 Pagesit corrupted them as they set to reach the American dream by acquiring wealth for the only purpose to pursue pleasure. The Great Gatsby is a 1925 novel written by F. Scott Fitzgerald showing that no one is unaffected by the corruption. This novel is seen through the eyes of Nick Carraway, who moves from the mid-west to west-egg to chase his American dream. He observes the people and events around him as he follows the attempts of his neighbor Jay Gatsby, to gain back Daisy Buchanan’s love. ThroughRead MoreCorrupting the American Dream in The Great Gatsby† by F. Scott Fitzgerald869 Words   |  4 PagesIn the novel, â€Å"The Great Gatsby† by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the author establishes materialism and wealth as a corruption to the American dream. The American dream embodies the idea of self-sufficient, honest and intelligent individual with a happy successful life. It is also the idea of the pursuit of happiness but Daisy Buchanan a wealthy aristocrat goes after the empty pursuit of pleasure, portraying her character as a disillusionment of the American dream and how much it lost its good values. TheRead MoreDegradation of the American Dream in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald964 Words   |  4 Pagesemotions is what made the roaring twenties so unique, yet unstable. Before the twenties, the American dream had been to earn a stable income and raise a family in the great country that is America, but during the twenties the American dream became much more diminished as people worked for riches and luxuries that only a few could afford. In The Great Gatsby the main characters are striving for this dream of riches in a turbulent setting, but ironically are blinded by the distractions of the Jazz

The Frank Talent of Aretha Louise Franklin Essay - 775 Words

Aretha Louise Franklin was born on March 25, 1942 in Memphis, Tennessee (bio 1). She was one of five children born to Rev. Clarence L. Franklin and Barbara (Siggers) Franklin (Moritz 132). Aretha was born into a very musical family. Her mother, Barbara, was a gospel singer and her sisters, Erma and Carolyn, are both vocalists, too (Glickman 1, Moritz 132). Her brothers took a different, unmusical approach to their lives. Her brother, Cecil, is the Assistant Pastor at his father’s church and her other brother, Vaughn, is a career man in the United States (Moritz 132). When Aretha was two years old her father took her, and the rest of his family, North (Moritz 132). Five years after they moved, they settled in Detroit, Michigan†¦show more content†¦Touring with her father gave her important performing experiences, but it was also a very tough time for her (Moritz 132). Her brother told a Time Magazine interviewer: â€Å"Driving eight or ten hours trying to make a gig, and being hungry and passing restaurants all along the road, and having to go off the highway into some little city to find a place to eat because you’re black- that had its effect† (Moritz 132). Everyone knew Aretha was incredibly talented at a very young age. At twelve years old, Aretha cut her first record on her first solo for Chess Records. After that she went on tour with her father. In 1960, Aretha came to New York and took dancing and vocal lessons (Moritz 132). She signed a five-year contract with Columbia Records one year later in 1961 (Moritz 132). While at Columbia Records, she recorded nine long-playing albums, only selling moderately (Moritz 132). Toward the end of 1966 Aretha turned down an offered renewed contract by Columbia, signing with Atlantic Records instead (Moritz 133). Aretha had â€Å"a reputation of being difficult to handle† in the early part of her career according to Phyl Garland of Ebony in 1967 (Moritz 133-134). She caus ed a small riot when she walked out of a concert in Denver because she was only paid half of what she was promised (Moritz 134). Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul, made beautiful, soulful music over the years. She recorded her first single, â€Å"I Never Loved a Man,†

Stefan’s Diaries Bloodlust Chapter 8~9 Free Essays

Chapter 8 October 4, 1864 As a human, I’d thought it was my mother’s death that had shaped the men Damon and I would become. I’d called myself a half-orphan in the initial days after she died, locking myself away in my room, feeling as though my life had ended at the young age of ten. Father believed grieving was weak and unmanly, so Damon had been the one to comfort me. We will write a custom essay sample on Stefan’s Diaries: Bloodlust Chapter 8~9 or any similar topic only for you Order Now He’d go riding with me, let me join the older boys in their games, and beat up the Giffin brothers when they made fun of me for crying about Mother during a baseball game. Damon had always been the strong one, my protector. But I was wrong. It is my own death that has shaped me. Now the tables have turned. I am the strong one, and I have been trying to be Damon’s protector. But while I have always been grateful to Damon, he despises me and blames me for what he has become. I had forced him to feed from Alice, a bartender at the local tavern, which had completed his transformation. But does that make me a villain? I think not, especially as the act had saved his life. Finally, I see Damon the way Father had seen him: too imperious, too willful, too quick to make up his mind, and too slow to change it. And as I had also realized earlier this evening as I stood just outside the dim glare of the gas lamp, the body of the dead nurse at my feet: I am alone. A full orphan. Just as Katherine had presented herself when she came to Mystic Falls and stayed in our guesthouse. So that’s how vampires do it, then. They exploit vulnerability, get humans to trust them, and then, when all the emotions are firmly in place, they attack. So that is what I will do. I know not how or who my next victim will be, but I know, more than ever, that the only person I can look out for and protect is myself. Damon is on his own, and so am I. I heard Damon steal through the city, moving at vampire speed down the streets and alleys. At one point, he paused, whispering Katherines name over and over again, like a mantra or a prayer. Then, nothing Was he dead? Had he drowned himself? Or was he simply too far away for me to hear him? Either way, the result was the same. I was alone–Id lost my only connection to the man Id once been: Stefan Salvatore, the dutiful son, the lover of poetry, the man who stood up for what was right. I wondered if that meant that Stefan Salvatore, with no one to remember him, was really, truly dead, leaving me to be anyone. I could move to a different city every year, see the whole world. I could assume as many identities as Id like. I could be a Union soldier. I could be an Italian businessman. I could even be Damon. The sun plunged past the horizon like a cannonball falling to earth, dipping the city into darkness. I turned from one gaslit street to the next, the soles of my boots rasping over the gravelly cobblestones. A loose newspaper blew toward me. I stomped on the broadsheet, examining an etched photo of a girl with long, dark hair and pale eyes. She looked vaguely familiar. I wondered if she was a relative of one of the Mystic Falls girls. Or perhaps a nameless cousin whod attended barbecues at Veritas. But then I saw the headline:BRUTAL MURDER ABOARD THE ATLANTIC EXPRESS. Lavinia. Of course. Id already forgotten her. I reached down and crumpled the paper, hurling it as far as I could into the Mississippi. The surface of the water was muddy and turbulent, dappled with moonlight. I couldnt see my reflection–couldnt see anything but an abyss of blackness as deep and dark as my new future. Could I go for eternity, feeding, killing, forgetting, then repeating the cycle? Yes. Every instinct and impulse I had screamedyes. The triumph of closing in on my prey, touching my canines to the paper-thin skin that covered their necks, hearing their hearts slow to a dull thud and feeling a body go limp in my arms. Hunting and feeding made me feel alive, whole; they gave me a purpose in the world. It was, after all, the natural order of things. Animals killed weaker animals. Humans killed animals. I killed humans. Every species had their foe. I shuddered to think what monster was powerful enough to hunt me. The salty breeze wafting from the water was laced with the odor of unwashed bodies and rotting food–a far cry from the aroma across town, where scents of floral perfume and talcum powder hung heavy in the air of the wide streets. Here shadows hugged every corner, whispers rose and fell with the flowing of the river, and drunken hiccups pierced the air. It was dark, here. Dangerous. I quite liked it. I turned a corner, following my nose like a bloodhound on the trail of a doe. I flexed my arms, ready for a hunt–a gin-soaked drunk, a soldier, a lady out after dark. The victim didnt matter. I turned again, and the iron-scent of blood came closer. The smell was sweet and smoky. I focused on it, on the anticipation of sinking my fangs into a neck, of wondering whose blood Id be drinking, whose life Id be stealing. I continued to walk, picking up my pace as I traced the scent to an anonymous back street lined with an apothecary, a general store, and a tailor. The street was a replica of our own Main Street back in Mystic Falls. But while wed only had one, New Orleans must have had dozens, if not hundreds, of these corridors of commerce. The rusty smell of iron was stronger now. I followed twists and turns, my hunger building, burning, searing my very skin until finally, finally I came to a squat, peach-colored building. But when I saw the painted sign above the door, I stopped short. Sausages in their casings hung in the buildings grimy window; slabs of cured meat dangled from the ceiling like a grotesque childs mobile; carved ribs were nestled in ice beneath a counter, and in the far back, whole carcasses were strung up, draining blood into large vats. This was a butcher shop? I sighed in frustration but my hunger forced me to push the door open anyway. The iron chain snapped easily, as if it were no sturdier than thread. Once inside, I gazed at the bloodied carcasses, momentarily mesmerized by the blood falling into the vats, one drip at a time. Over the sound of the raining blood, I heard the slightestping, no louder than the twitch of a mouses whiskers. Then came the light shuffle of toes passing over concrete. I reared back, my eyes darting from corner to corner. Mice scuttled beneath the floorboards, and someones watch ticked in the building next door. All else was quiet. But the air around me suddenly felt thicker, and the ceiling lower somehow, and I became acutely aware that there was no back exit in this room of death. â€Å"Who goes there?† I called into the darkness, whirling around, my fangs bared. And then came movement. Fangs, eyes, the thud of footsteps closed in around me from all corners. A low, guttural growl echoed off the bloodstained walls of the shop, and I realized with a sickening jolt that I was surrounded by vampires who looked all too ready to pounce. Chapter 9 I crouched low, my fangs elongated. The heady scent of blood permeated every corner of the room, making my head spin. It was impossible to know where to attack first. The vampires growled again, and I emitted a low snarl in response. The circle closed in tighter around me. There were three of them, and I was caught, like a fish in a net, a deer surrounded by wolves. â€Å"What do you think youre doing?† one of the vampires asked. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and had a scar that ran the length of his face, from his left eye to the corner of his lip. â€Å"Im one of you,† I said, standing at my full height, fangs on display. â€Å"Oh, hes one of us!† an older vampire said in a sing-songy voice. He wore glasses and a tweed vest over a white-collared shirt. But for the fangs and red-rimmed eyes, he could have been an accountant or a friend of my fathers. I kept my face impassive. â€Å"I have no ill business with you, brothers.† â€Å"We are not your brothers,† said another with tawny hair. He looked not a day over fifteen. His face was smooth, but his green eyes were hard. The older one stepped forward, poking his bony finger against my chest as if it were a wooden stake. â€Å"So, brother, nice evening to dine or die. What do you think?† The young vampire kneeled next to me, gazing into my eyes. â€Å"Looks like hell do both tonight. Lucky boy,† he said, ruffling my hair. I tried to kick him, but my foot simply flopped harmlessly against air. â€Å"No, no, no.† While the scarred vampire watched wordlessly, the boy grabbed my arms and wrenched them so sharply and abruptly behind my back that I gasped. â€Å"Dont be disrespectful. Were your elders. And youve already done quite enough disrespecting already, if Miss Mollys house is any indication.† He drawled her name as if he were a benign, genteel Southern gentleman. Only the steel grip on my limbs betrayed that he wasnt anything of the sort. â€Å"I didnt do anything,† I said, kicking again. If I were to die, then Id die in a fight. â€Å"Are you sure?† he asked, looking down at me in disgust. I attempted to twist away, but still I couldnt budge. The elder vampire chuckled. â€Å"Cant control his urges. Impulsive, this one. Lets give him a taste of his own medicine.† With a flourish, he released me from his grasp, pushing me forward with strength Id never before felt. I hit the plaster wall with a crash and fell on my shoulder, my head cracking against the wooden floorboards. I cowered beneath my attackers, the realization sinking in that if I were to survive this encounter, it would not be by might. â€Å"I didnt mean to do anything. Im sorry,† I said, my voice breaking on the word. â€Å"Do you mean it?† the young vampire asked, a glint in his eye. The sound of wood breaking assaulted my ears. I flinched. Would one vampire stake another? This was not a question I wanted answered the hard way. â€Å"Yes. Yes! I didnt mean to come in here. I didnt know anyone was here. I only just arrived in New Orleans,† I said, scrambling for an excuse. â€Å"Silence!† he commanded, advancing toward me, a jagged piece of wood in his hand. I pressed my spine into the damaged wall. So this is how it would end. With me dying on a makeshift stake, killed by my own kind. Two hands crushed my arms, while another two pinned my ankles together so forcefully that it felt as though I were stuck under boulders. I closed my eyes. An image of Father lying prone on his study floor swam to the forefront of my mind, and I shook my head in agony, remembering his sweating, terrified face. Of course, Id been trying to save him, but he hadnt known that. If he was watching, as an angel or a demon or a mere specter condemned to haunt the world, hed be thrilled to see this scene unfold. I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to evoke some other memory to the fore of my mind, one that would take me to another place, another time. But all I could think of were my victims, of the moment when my fangs sliced into their skin, their plaintive wails descending into silence, the blood dripping down my fangs and onto my chin. Soon, all the blood Id taken would be released, seeping out of my own body and back into the Earth, as I was left to die, for real this time, forever, on this wooden floor. â€Å"Enough!† A female voice sliced through the montage in my mind. Immediately, the vampires let go of my hands and feet. My eyes sprang open, and I saw a woman gliding through a narrow wooden door in the back. Her long blond hair descended in a single plait down her back, and she wore mens black pants and suspenders. She was tall, though slight as a child, and all the other vampires shrank away from her in fear. â€Å"You,† she said, kneeling next to me. â€Å"Who are you?† Her amber eyes gazed into mine. They were clear and curious, but there was something about them–the darkness of the pupils, perhaps–that seemed ancient and knowing, which stood in sharp contrast to her rosy-cheeked, unlined face. â€Å"Stefan Salvatore,† I answered her. â€Å"Stefan Salvatore,† she repeated in a perfect Italian accent. Although teasing, her voice didnt seem unkind. She ran a finger gently along my jaw, then placed her palm against my chest and she pressed me against the wall, hard. The suddenness of the movement stunned me, but as I sat, pinned and helpless, she brought her other wrist to her mouth, using her fang to puncture the vein. She dragged her wrist along her teeth, creating a small stream of blood. â€Å"Drink,† she commanded, bringing her wrist to my lips. I did as I was told, managing to get a few drops of the liquid down my throat before she yanked her hand away. â€Å"Thats enough. That should fix your wounds at any rate.† â€Å"He and his brother have been wreaking havoc all over town,† the large vampire said, his makeshift stake pointed at me like a rifle. â€Å"Just me,† I said quickly. â€Å"My brother had no part in it.† Damon would never survive the wrath of these demons. Not in his weakened state. The blond vampire wrinkled her nose as she leaned even closer toward me. â€Å"Youre what, a week old?† she asked, leaning back on her heels. â€Å"Almost two weeks,† I said defiantly, lifting my chin. She nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips, and stood, surveying the shop. The plaster wall was partially caved in, and blood smeared the floor and speckled the walls, as though a child had stood in the center of the room and twirled around with a wet paintbrush. She tsked, and the three male vampires simultaneously took a step back. I shivered. â€Å"Percy, come here, and bring that knife,† she said. With a sigh, the youngest vampire produced a long carving knife from behind his back. â€Å"He wasnt following the rules,† he said petulantly, reminding me of the Giffin boys back home. They were both bullies, always ready to kick a kid in the schoolyard and then turn around and tell a teacher they had nothing to do with it. She took the knife and stared at it, running the pad of her index finger over the gleaming blade. Then she held it back out to Percy. He hesitated a moment, but finally stepped forward to take it. Just then the girls canines elongated and her eyes flushed bloodred. With a growl, she stabbed Percy right in the chest. He fell to his knees, doubled over in silent agony. â€Å"You hunt this vampire for making a scene in town,† she seethed, stabbing the knife in farther, â€Å"and yet you attempt to destroy him in this public space, in this shop? Youre just as foolish as he is.† The young vampire staggered to his feet. Blood streamed down the front of his shirt, as though hed spilled coffee on himself. He grimaced as he pulled the knife out with a sucking sound. â€Å"Im sorry,† he gasped. â€Å"Thank you.† The woman held her wrist toward Percys mouth. Despite her youthful look and apparently violent temper, she also had a mothering quality that the other vampires seemed to accept, as if her stabbings were as normal to them as a light swat would be to a high-spirited child. She turned toward me. â€Å"Im sorry for your troubles, Stefan. Now, can I help you be on your way?† she asked. I looked around wildly. Id thought no further ahead than escaping this room. â€Å"I â€Å" â€Å". . . dont have anywhere to go,† she said with a sigh, finishing my thought. She glanced toward the other vampires, who were now huddled in the corner of the room, heads bent in conversation. â€Å"Ill just be going,† I said, struggling to my feet. My leg was fine, but my arms shook, and my breath came erratically. With local vampires watching my every move, where would I go? How would I feed? â€Å"Nonsense, youre coming with us,† she said, turning on her heel and walking out the door. She pointed to the young vampire and the one who wore glasses. â€Å"Percy and Hugo, stay and clean this place up.† I had to practically run to keep up with her and the tall, scarred vampire whod watched my torture. â€Å"Youll need someone to show you around,† she explained, pausing only slightly. â€Å"This is Buxton,† she said, grabbing the elbow of the vampire with the long scar. We walked down street after street until we neared a church with a tall spire. â€Å"Were here,† she said, turning sharply to enter a wrought-iron gate. Her boots echoed against a slate path that led to the rear of a house. She opened the door, and a musty scent greeted me. Buxton immediately walked through the parlor and up a set of stairs, leaving me and the young female vampire alone in the darkness. â€Å"Welcome home,† she said, spreading her hands wide. â€Å"There are plenty of spare rooms upstairs. Find one that suits you.† â€Å"Thank you.† As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I took in my surroundings. Black velvet curtains fastened with golden rope blocked every window. Dust motes floated in the air, and gilt-framed paintings covered the walls. The furniture was threadbare, and I could just make out two sweeping staircases with what looked like oriental runners and, in the next room, a piano. Though at one point this must have been a grand house, now the soiled walls were cracked and peeling, and cobwebs draped over the gold-and-crystal chandelier above us. â€Å"Always enter through the back. Never draw back the curtains. Dont ever bring anyone here. Do you understand, Stefan?† She looked at me pointedly. â€Å"Yes,† I said, running a finger along the marble fireplace, cutting a path in the inch-thick dust. â€Å"Then I think you will like it here,† she said. I turned to face her, nodding in agreement. My panic had subsided, and my arms no longer trembled. â€Å"Im Lexi,† she said, holding out her hand, allowing me to raise it to my lips and kiss it. â€Å"I have a feeling that you and I will be friends for a long time.† How to cite Stefan’s Diaries: Bloodlust Chapter 8~9, Essay examples

Candide satire free essay sample

Candide In one of his most famous works, Candide, Voltaire leaves no stone unturned in terms of what he satirizes. Though a great many topics are touched upon, Voltaire ultimately uses Candide to satirize the philosophy of optimism offered by the German philosopher, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. By examining Voltaires satire of armies, we can see that he uses the pointless atrocities and violence in Candide as a basis to discredit the German philosophy of optimism. The first instance in which Voltaire utilizes armies to discredit the philosophy of ptimism occurs shortly after Candide is banished from Westphalia. After simply toasting to the good health of the Bulgarian king, soldiers handcuff him and take him to their regiment. Here he is trained as a soldier and beaten, they gave him thirty blows with a cudgel. The next day he did his exercise a little less badly, and he received but twenty blows. We will write a custom essay sample on Candide satire or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page The day following they gave him only ten, and he was regarded by his comrades as a prodigy (Ch. 2). Candide has been taken against his will to Join an army, and even with his full compliance he is beaten. Here Voltaire is atirizing the violence that takes place within armies. He is illustrating how much needless violence there is that is evident in warring armies. Voltaire continues to use needless violence throughout the story to illustrate his argument against optimism. Another way Voltaire uses armies to invalidate the philosophy of optimism in Ch. 2 when Candide goes for a walk. With his short walk in the woods marked as desertion, Candide is court-martialed and offered the choice of being flogged thirty-six times by his whole regiment or having twelve musket balls shot into his brain. Being a student of Pangloss, and thus subscribing to an optimistic outlook, Candide uses the divine gift called free-will to choose the floggings. In this case we see that Voltaire is both satirizing the foolishness of the army for punishing someone for taking a walk as well as including a hint of satire with Candides notion of his divine gift. There is a sense of optimism in Candides ability to choose his undeserved consequence. Voltaire uses this exaggerated punishment of four thousand floggings to once again satirize the harshness of armies. Voltaire offers yet another example of the cruelty of armies when Candide arrives in England. Candide witnesses an admiral shot in the head by three soldiers near a crowd of people and decides to inquire about the atrocity. The response to Candides inquiry was that the admiral had failed to kill a sufficient amount of people, specifically the French admiral. Voltaire is satirizing the armys decision making and pointing out their absurd methods. In the same scene Candide attempts to reason with his new acquaintance and is told that in this country it is found good, from time o time, to kill one Admiral to encourage the others. This ludicrous explanation is not logical in any way and is a further satirization of the armys reasoning. Voltaire uses Candides ventures in, and around the army to expose the direct contradiction to Pangloss teachings which really reflect Leibnizs philosophy of optimism. As a student of Pangloss, Candide is always looking at the bright side and is truly optimi stic. When the soldiers first found Candide they offered to pay for his the right thing for them to do saying, miou are right, this is what I was always taught y Mr. Pangloss, and I see plainly that all is for the best. Candides optimism blinds him to the fact that he is being deceived and Voltaire uses this scene to show that optimism is not a sound ideology to hold. Voltaires satirization of armies helps to shed light on his critiques of the German philosophy of optimism as proposed by Leibniz. Voltaire seriously criticizes the philosophy of optimism, but is he right? In the words of Pococurante, Fools admire everything in an author of reputation. So is Voltaire right or are we simply fools?