The Fable of the Bees; Or, Private Vices, Public BenefitsMandeville, Bernard
Philosophy
The Fable of the Bees; Or, Private Vices, Public Benefits
Mandeville, Bernard
Charity-schools -- Early works to 1800; Ethics -- Early works to 1800; Virtue -- Early works to 1800
I expect to be asked, why in the fable I have called those pleasures
real, that are directly opposite to those which I own the wise men of
all ages have extolled as the most valuable? My answer is, because I do
not call things pleasures which men say are best, but such as they seem
to be most pleased with; how can I believe that a mans chief delight is
in the embellishment of the mind, when I see him ever employed about,
and daily pursue the pleasures that are contrary to them? John never
cuts any pudding, but just enough that you cannot say he took none:
this little bit, after much chomping and chewing, you see goes down
with him like chopped hay; after that he falls upon the beef with
a voracious appetite, and crams himself up to his throat. Is it not
provoking, to hear John cry every day that pudding is all his delight,
and that he does not value the beef of a farthing.
I could swagger about fortitude and the contempt of riches as much
as Seneca himself, and would undertake to write twice as much in
behalf of poverty as ever he did; for the tenth part of his estate,
I could teach the way to his summum bonum as exactly as I know my way
home: I could tell people to extricate themselves from all worldly
engagements, and to purify the mind, they must divest themselves of
their passions, as men take out the furniture when they would clean
a room thoroughly; and I am clearly of the opinion, that the malice
and most severe strokes of fortune, can do no more injury to a mind
thus stripped of all fears, wishes, and inclinations, than a blind
horse can do in an empty barn. In the theory of all this I am very
perfect, but the practice is very difficult; and if you went about
picking my pocket, offered to take the victuals from before me when
I am hungry, or made but the least motion of spitting in my face,
I dare not promise how philosophically I should behave myself. But
that I am forced to submit to every caprice of my unruly nature, you
will say, is no argument, that others are as little masters of theirs,
and therefore, I am willing to pay adoration to virtue wherever I can
meet with it, with a proviso that I shall not be obliged to admit
any as such, where I can see no self-denial, or to judge of mens
sentiments from their words, where I have their lives before me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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