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

by Bernard Mandeville

Cleo. And so it is to form a society of independent multitudes; and there is nothing that requires greater skill.

Hor. But is not the sociableness of man the work of nature, or rather of the author of nature, Divine Providence?

Cleo. Without doubt: But so is the innate virtue and peculiar aptitude of every thing; that grapes are fit to make wine, and barley and water to make other liquors, is the work of Providence; but it is human sagacity that finds out the uses we make of them: all the other capacities of man likewise, as well as his sociableness, are evidently derived from God, who made him: every thing therefore that our industry can produce or compass, is originally owing to the Author of our being. But when we speak of the works of nature, to distinguish them from those of art, we mean such as were brought forth without our concurrence. So nature, in due season produces peas; but in England you cannot have them green in January, without art and uncommon industry. What nature designs, she executes herself: there are creatures, of whom it is visible, that nature has designed them for society, as is most obvious in bees, to whom she has given instincts for that purpose, as appears from the effects. We owe our being and every thing else to the great Author of the universe; but as societies cannot subsist without his preserving power, so they cannot exist without the concurrence of human wisdom: all of them must have a dependance either on mutual compact, or the force of the strong exerting itself upon the patience of the weak. The difference between the works of art, and those of nature, is so immense, that it is impossible not to know them asunder. Knowing, à priori, belongs to God only, and Divine Wisdom acts with an original certainty, of which, what we call demonstration, is but an imperfect borrowed copy. Amongst the works of nature, therefore, we see no trials nor essays; they are all complete, and such as she would have them, at the first production; and, where she has not been interrupted, highly finished, beyond the reach of our understanding, as well as senses. Wretched man, on the contrary is sure of nothing, his own existence not excepted, but from reasoning, à posteriori. The consequence of this is, that the works of art and human invention are all very lame and defective, and most of them pitifully mean at first: our knowledge is advanced by slow degrees, and some arts and sciences require the experience of many ages, before they can be brought to any tolerable perfection. Have we any reason to imagine that the society of bees, that sent forth the first swarm, made worse wax or honey than any of their posterity have produced since? And again the laws of nature are fixed and unalterable: in all her orders and regulations there is a stability, no where to be met with in things of human contrivance and approbation;

Quid placet aut odio est, quod non mutabile credas?

Is it probable, that amongst the bees, there has ever been any other form of government than what every swarm submits to now? What an infinite variety of speculations, what ridiculous schemes have not been proposed amongst men, on the subject of government; what dissentions in opinion, and what fatal quarrels has it not been the occasion of! and which is the best form of it, is a question to this day undecided. The projects, good and bad, that have been stated for the benefit, and more happy establishment of society, are innumerable; but how short sighted is our sagacity, how fallible human judgment! What has seemed highly advantageous to mankind in one age, has often been found to be evidently detrimental by the succeeding; and even among contemporaries, what is revered in one country, is the abomination of another. What changes have ever bees made in their furniture or architecture? have they ever made cells that were not sexangular, or added any tools to those which nature furnished them with at the beginning? What mighty structures have been raised, what prodigious works have been performed by the great nations of the world! Toward all these nature has only found materials: the quarry yields marble, but it is the sculptor that makes a statue of it. To have the infinite variety of iron tools that have been invented, nature has given us nothing but the oar, which she has hid in the bowels of the earth.

Hor. But the capacity of the workmen, the inventors of arts, and those that improved them, has had a great share in bringing those labours to perfection; and their genius they had from nature.

Cleo. So far as it depended upon the make of their frame, the accuracy of the machine they had, and no further; but this I have allowed already; and if you remember what I have said on this head, you will find, that the part which nature contributed toward the skill and patience of every single person, that had a hand in those works, was very inconsiderable.

Hor. If I have not misunderstood you, you would insinuate two things: First, that the fitness of man for society, beyond other animals, is something real; but that it is hardly perceptible in individuals, before great numbers of them are joined together, and artfully managed. Secondly, that this real something, this sociableness, is a compound that consists in a concurrence of several things, and not in any one palpable quality, that man is endued with, and brutes are destitute of.

Cleo. You are perfectly right: every grape contains a small quantity of juice, and when great heaps of them are squeezed together, they yield a liquor, which by skilful management may be made into wine: but if we consider how necessary fermentation is to the vinosity of the liquor, I mean, how essential is it to its being wine, it will be evident to us, that without great impropriety of speech, it cannot be said, that in every grape there is wine.

Hor. Vinosity, so far as it is the effect of fermentation, is adventitious; and what none of the grapes could ever have received whilst they remained single; and, therefore, if you would compare the sociableness of man to the vinosity of wine, you must show me, that in society there is an equivalent for fermentation; I mean something that individual persons are not actually possessed of, whilst they remain single, and which likewise is palpably adventitious to multitudes when joined together; in the same manner as fermentation is to the juice of grapes, and as necessary and essential to the completing of society as that is, that same fermentation, to procure the vinosity of wine.