The Fable of the Bees; Or, Private Vices, Public Benefits

by Bernard Mandeville

Cleo. The resistless industry of man to supply his wants; and his constant endeavours to meliorate his condition upon earth, have produced and brought to perfection many useful arts and sciences, of which the beginnings are of uncertain eras, and to which we can align no other causes, than human sagacity in general, and the joint labour of many ages, in which men have always employed themselves in studying and contriving ways and means to sooth their various appetites, and make the best of their infirmities. Whence had we the first rudiments of architecture; how came sculpture and painting to be what they have been these many hundred years; and who taught every nation the respective languages they speak now. When I have a mind to dive into the origin of any maxim or political invention, for the use of society in general, I do not trouble my head with inquiring after the time or country in which it was first heard of, nor what others have wrote or said about it; but I go directly to the fountain head, human nature itself, and look for the frailty or defect in man, that is remedied or supplied by that invention: when things are very obscure, I sometimes make use of conjectures to find my way.

Hor. Do you argue, or pretend to prove any thing from those conjectures?

Cleo. No; I never reason but from the plain observations which every body may make on man, the phenomena that appear in the lesser world.

Hor. You have, without doubt, thought on this subject before now; would you communicate to me some of your guesses?

Cleo. With abundance of pleasure.

Hor. You will give me leave, now and then, when things are not clear to me, to put in a word for information’s sake.

Cleo. I desire you would: you will oblige me with it. That self-love was given to all animals, at least, the most perfect, for self-preservation, is not disputed; but as no creature can love what it dislikes, it is necessary, moreover, that every one should have a real liking to its own being, superior to what they have to any other. I am of opinion, begging pardon for the novelty, that if this liking was not always permanent, the love which all creatures have for themselves, could not be so unalterable as we see it is.

Hor. What reason have you to suppose this liking, which creatures have for themselves, to be distinct from self-love; since the one plainly comprehends the other?

Cleo. I will endeavour to explain myself better. I fancy, that to increase the care in creatures to preserve themselves, nature has given them an instinct, by which every individual values itself above its real worth; this in us, I mean in man, seems to be accompanied with a diffidence, arising from a consciousness, or at least an apprehension, that we do overvalue ourselves: it is that makes us so fond of the approbation, liking, and assent of others; because they strengthen and confirm us in the good opinion we have of ourselves. The reasons why this self-liking, give me leave to call it so, is not plainly to be seen in all animals that are of the same degree of perfection, are many. Some want ornaments, and consequently the means to express it; others are too stupid and listless: it is to be considered likewise, that creatures, which are always in the same circumstances, and meet with little variation in their way of living, have neither opportunity nor temptation to show it; that the more mettle and liveliness creatures have, the more visible this liking is; and that in those of the same kind, the greater spirit they are of, and the more they excel in the perfections of their species, the fonder they are of showing it: in most birds it is evident, especially in those that have extraordinary finery to display: in a horse it is more conspicuous than in any other irrational creature: it is most apparent in the swiftest, the strongest, the most healthy and vigorous; and may be increased in that animal by additional ornaments, and the presence of man, whom he knows, to clean, take care of, and delight in him. It is not improbable, that this great liking which creatures have for their own individuals, is the principle on which the love to their species is built: cows and sheep, too dull and lifeless to make any demonstration of this liking, yet herd and feed together, each with his own species; because no others are so like themselves: by this they seem to know likewise, that they have the same interest, and the same enemies; cows have often been seen to join in a common defence against wolves: birds of a feather flock together; and I dare say, that the screechowl likes her own note better than that of the nightingale.

Hor. Montaigne seems to have been somewhat of your opinion, when he fancied, that if brutes were to paint the Deity, they would all draw him of their own species. But what you call self-liking is evidently pride.