The Fable of the Bees E-Book

Bernard Mandeville

• Herausgeber: Passerino
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

The Fable of The Bees: or, Private Vices, Publick Benefits is a 1714 book by the Anglo-Dutch satirist Bernard Mandeville. It consists of the satirical poem The Grumbling Hive: or, Knaves turn'd Honest, which was first published in 1705, along with prose discussion of the poem, called "Remarks", and an essay, An Enquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue. In 1723 another edition appeared in which Mandeville added two new essays.

In The Grumbling Hive, Mandeville describes a bee community that thrives until the bees suddenly become honest and virtuous. Without their desire for personal gain, their economy collapses and the remaining bees go to live simple lives in a hollow tree. The implication—that private vices are the source of public benefits—caused a scandal when public attention turned to the work, especially after its 1723 edition.

Bernard Mandeville, or Bernard de Mandeville (15 November 1670 – 21 January 1733), was an Anglo-Dutch philosopher, political economist and satirist. Born in Rotterdam, Netherlands, he lived most of his life in England and used English for most of his published works. He became famous for The Fable of the Bees.

According to E. J. Hundert, the thesis of Mandeville's satire was that "contemporary society is an aggregation of self-interested individuals necessarily bound to one another neither by their shared civic commitments nor their moral rectitude, but, paradoxically, by the tenuous bonds of envy, competition and exploitation".
Mandeville's challenge to the popular ideas of virtue—in which only unselfish actions could be virtuous, or which were predicated on Enlightenment rationalism—caused a controversy that lasted through the eighteenth century and influenced later thinkers in moral philosophy and economics. Ideas about the division of labour and the free market (laissez-faire) were influenced by his Fable, and the philosophy of utilitarianism was advanced as Mandeville's critics, in defending their views of virtue, also altered them.

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Bernard Mandeville

The Fable of the Bees

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Table of contents

Preface

THE GRUMBLING HIVE: OR, KNAVES TURN’D HONEST.

THE MORAL

THE INTRODUCTION

AN INQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF MORAL VIRTUE.

THE REMARKS

Preface

Laws and government are to the political bodies of civil societies, what the vital spirits and life itself are to the natural bodies of animated creatures; and as those that study the anatomy of dead carcases may see, that the chief organs and nicest springs more immediately required to continue the motion of our machine, are not hard bones, strong muscles and nerves, nor the smooth white skin, that so beautifully covers them, but small trifling films, and little pipes, that are either overlooked or else seem inconsiderable to vulgar eyes; so they that examine into the nature of man, abstract from art and education, may observe, that what renders him a sociable animal, consists not in his desire of company, good nature, pity, affability, and other graces of a fair outside; but that his vilest and most hateful qualities are the most necessary accomplishments to fit him for the largest, and, according to the world, the happiest and most flourishing societies.

The following Fable, in which what I have said is set forth at large, was printed above eight years ago, in a six penny pamphlet, called, The Grumbling Hive, or Knaves turn’d Honest; and being soon after pirated, cried about the streets in a halfpenny sheet. Since the first publishing of it, I have met with several that, either wilfully or ignorantly mistaking the design, would have it, that the scope of it was a satire upon virtue and morality, and the whole wrote for the encouragement of vice. This made me resolve, whenever it should be reprinted, some way or other to inform the reader of the real intent this little poem was wrote with. I do not dignify these few loose lines with the name of Poem, that I would have the reader expect any poetry in them, but barely because they are rhyme, and I am in reality puzzled what name to give them; for they are neither heroic nor pastoral, satire, burlesque, nor heroi-comic; to be a tale they want probability, and the whole is rather too long for a fable. All I can say of them is, that they are a story told in doggerel, which, without the least design of being witty, I have endeavoured to do in as easy and familiar a manner as I was able: the reader shall be welcome to call them what he pleases. It was said of Montaigne, that he was pretty well versed in the defects of mankind, but unacquainted with the excellencies of human nature: if I fare no worse, I shall think myself well used.

What country soever in the universe is to be understood by the Bee-Hive represented here, it is evident, from what is said of the laws and constitution of it, the glory, wealth, power, and industry of its inhabitants, that it must be a large, rich and warlike nation, that is happily governed by a limited monarchy. The satire, therefore, to be met with in the following lines, upon the several professions and callings, and almost every degree and station of people, was not made to injure and point to particular persons, but only to show the vileness of the ingredients that altogether compose the wholesome mixture of a well-ordered society; in order to extol the wonderful power of political wisdom, by the help of which so beautiful a machine is raised from the most contemptible branches. For the main design of the Fable (as it is briefly explained in the Moral), is to show the impossibility of enjoying all the most elegant comforts of life, that are to be met with in an industrious, wealthy and powerful nation, and at the same time, be blessed with all the virtue and innocence that can be wished for in a golden age; from thence to expose the unreasonableness and folly of those, that desirous of being an opulent and flourishing people, and wonderfully greedy after all the benefits they can receive as such, are yet always murmuring at and exclaiming against those vices and inconveniences, that from the beginning of the world to this present day, have been inseparable from all kingdoms and states, that ever were famed, for strength, riches, and politeness, at the same time.

To do this, I first slightly touch upon some of the faults and corruptions the several professions and callings are generally charged with. After that I show that those very vices, of every particular person, by skilful management, were made subservient to the grandeur and worldly happiness of the whole. Lastly, by setting forth what of necessity must be the consequence of general honesty and virtue, and national temperance, innocence and content, I demonstrate that if mankind could be cured of the failings they are naturally guilty of, they would cease to be capable of being raised into such vast potent and polite societies, as they have been under the several great commonwealths and monarchies that have flourished since the creation.

If you ask me, why I have done all this, cui bono? and what good these notions will produce? truly, besides the reader’s diversion, I believe none at all; but if I was asked what naturally ought to be expected from them, I would answer, that, in the first place, the people who continually find fault with others, by reading them, would be taught to look at home, and examining their own consciences, be made ashamed of always railing at what they are more or less guilty of themselves; and that, in the next, those who are so fond of the ease and comforts, and reap all the benefits that are the consequence of a great and flourishing nation, would learn more patiently to submit to those inconveniences, which no government upon earth can remedy, when they should see the impossibility of enjoying any great share of the first, without partaking likewise of the latter.

This, I say, ought naturally to be expected from the publishing of these notions, if people were to be made better by any thing that could be said to them; but mankind having for so many ages remained still the same, notwithstanding the many instructive and elaborate writings, by which their amendment has been endeavoured, I am not so vain as to hope for better success from so inconsiderable a trifle.

Having allowed the small advantage this little whim is likely to produce, I think myself obliged to show that it cannot be prejudicial to any; for what is published, if it does no good, ought at least to do no harm: in order to this, I have made some explanatory notes, to which the reader will find himself referred in those passages that seem to be most liable to exceptions.

The censorious, that never saw the Grumbling Hive, will tell me, that whatever I may talk of the Fable, it not taking up a tenth part of the book, was only contrived to introduce the Remarks; that instead of clearing up the doubtful or obscure places, I have only pitched upon such as I had a mind to expatiate upon; and that far from striving to extenuate the errors committed before, I have made bad worse, and shown myself a more barefaced champion for vice, in the rambling digressions, than I had done in the Fable itself.

I shall spend no time in answering these accusations: where men are prejudiced, the best apologies are lost; and I know that those who think it criminal to suppose a necessity of vice in any case whatever, will never be reconciled to any part of the performance; but if this be thoroughly examined, all the offence it can give must result from the wrong inferences that may perhaps be drawn from it, and which I desire nobody to make. When I assert that vices are inseparable from great and potent societies, and that it is impossible their wealth and grandeur should subsist without, I do not say that the particular members of them who are guilty of any should not be continually reproved, or not be punished for them when they grow into crimes.

There are, I believe, few people in London, of those that are at any time forced to go a-foot, but what could wish the streets of it much cleaner than generally they are; while they regard nothing but their own clothes and private conveniency; but when once they come to consider, that what offends them, is the result of the plenty, great traffic, and opulency of that mighty city, if they have any concern in its welfare, they will hardly ever wish to see the streets of it less dirty. For if we mind the materials of all sorts that must supply such an infinite number of trades and handicrafts, as are always going forward; the vast quantity of victuals, drink, and fuel, that are daily consumed in it; the waste and superfluities that must be produced from them; the multitudes of horses, and other cattle, that are always dawbing the streets; the carts, coaches, and more heavy carriages that are perpetually wearing and breaking the pavement of them; and, above all, the numberless swarms of people that are continually harassing and trampling through every part of them: If, I say, we mind all these, we shall find, that every moment must produce new filth; and, considering how far distant the great streets are from the river side, what cost and care soever be bestowed to remove the nastiness almost as fast as it is made, it is impossible London should be more cleanly before it is less flourishing. Now would I ask, if a good citizen, in consideration of what has been said, might not assert, that dirty streets are a necessary evil, inseparable from the felicity of London, without being the least hinderance to the cleaning of shoes, or sweeping of streets, and consequently without any prejudice either to the blackguard or the scavingers.

But if, without any regard to the interest or happiness of the city, the question was put, What place I thought most pleasant to walk in? Nobody can doubt, but before the stinking streets of London, I would esteem a fragrant garden, or a shady grove in the country. In the same manner, if laying aside all worldly greatness and vain glory, I should be asked where I thought it was most probable that men might enjoy true happiness, I would prefer a small peaceable society, in which men, neither envied nor esteemed by neighbours, should be contented to live upon the natural product of the spot they inhabit, to a vast multitude abounding in wealth and power, that should always be conquering others by their arms abroad, and debauching themselves by foreign luxury at home.

Thus much I had said to the reader in the first edition; and have added nothing by way of preface in the second. But since that, a violent outcry has been made against the book, exactly answering the expectation I always had of the justice, the wisdom, the charity, and fair-dealing of those whose good will I despaired of. It has been presented by the Grand Jury, and condemned by thousands who never saw a word of it. It has been preached against before my Lord Mayor; and an utter refutation of it is daily expected from a reverend divine, who has called me names in the advertisements, and threatened to answer me in two months time for above five months together. What I have to say for myself, the reader will see in my Vindication at the end of the book, where he will likewise find the Grand Jury’s Presentment, and a letter to the Right Honourable Lord C. which is very rhetorical beyond argument or connection. The author shows a fine talent for invectives, and great sagacity in discovering atheism, where others can find none. He is zealous against wicked books, points at the Fable of the Bees, and is very angry with the author: He bestows four strong epithets on the enormity of his guilt, and by several elegant innuendos to the multitude, as the danger there is in suffering such authors to live, and the vengeance of Heaven upon a whole nation, very charitably recommends him to their care.

Considering the length of this epistle, and that it is not wholly levelled at me only, I thought at first to have made some extracts from it of what related to myself; but finding, on a nearer inquiry, that what concerned me was so blended and interwoven with what did not, I was obliged to trouble the reader with it entire, not without hopes that, prolix as it is, the extravagancy of it will be entertaining to those who have perused the treatise it condemns with so much horror.

THE GRUMBLING HIVE: OR, KNAVES TURN’D HONEST.

A spacious hive well stock’d with bees,

That liv’d in luxury and ease;

And yet as fam’d for laws and arms,

As yielding large and early swarms;

Was counted the great nursery

Of sciences and industry.

No bees had better government,

More fickleness, or less content:

They were not slaves to tyranny.

Nor rul’d by wild democracy;

But kings, that could not wrong, because

Their power was circumscrib’d by laws.

These insects liv’d like men, and all

Our actions they performed in small:

They did whatever’s done in town,

And what belongs to sword or gown:

Though th’ artful works, by nimble slight

Of minute limbs, ’scap’d human sight;

Yet we’ve no engines, labourers,

Ships, castles, arms, artificers,

Craft, science, shop, or instrument,

But they had an equivalent:

Which, since their language is unknown,

Must be call’d, as we do our own.

As grant, that among other things,

They wanted dice, yet they had kings;

And those had guards; from whence we may

Justly conclude, they had some play;

Unless a regiment be shown

Of soldiers, that make use of none.

Vast numbers throng’d the fruitful hive;

Yet those vast numbers made ’em thrive;

Millions endeavouring to supply

Each other’s lust and vanity;

While other millions were employ’d,

To see their handy-works destroy’d;

They furnish’d half the universe;

Yet had more work than labourers.

Some with vast flocks, and little pains,

Jump’d into business of great gains;

And some were damn’d to scythes and spades,

And all those hard laborious trades;

Where willing wretches daily sweat,

And wear out strength and limbs to eat:

While others follow’d mysteries,

To which few folks binds ’prentices;

That want no stock, but that of brass,

And may set up without a cross;

As sharpers, parasites, pimps, players,

Pickpockets, coiners, quacks, soothsayers,

And all those, that in enmity,

With downright working, cunningly

Convert to their own use the labour

Of their good-natur’d heedless neighbour.

These were call’d Knaves, but bar the name,

The grave industrious were the same:

All trades and places knew some cheat,

No calling was without deceit.

The lawyers, of whose art the basis

Was raising feuds and splitting cases,

Oppos’d all registers, that cheats

Might make more work with dipt estates;

As were’t unlawful, that one’s own,

Without a law-suit, should be known.

They kept off hearings wilfully,

To finger the refreshing fee;

And to defend a wicked cause,

Examin’d and survey’d the laws,

As burglar’s shops and houses do,

To find out where they’d best break through.

Physicians valu’d fame and wealth

Above the drooping patient’s health,

Or their own skill: the greatest part

Study’d, instead of rules of art,

Grave pensive looks and dull behaviour,

To gain th’ apothecary’s favour;

The praise of midwives, priests, and all

That serv’d at birth or funeral.

To bear with th’ ever-talking tribe,

And hear my lady’s aunt prescribe;

With formal smile, and kind how d’ye,

To fawn on all the family;

And, which of all the greatest curse is,

T’ endure th’ impertinence of nurses.

Among the many priests of Jove,

Hir’d to draw blessings from above,

Some few were learn’d and eloquent,

But thousands hot and ignorant:

Yet all pass’d muster that could hide

Their sloth, lust, avarice and pride;

For which they were as fam’d as tailors

For cabbage, or for brandy sailors,

Some, meagre-look’d, and meanly clad,

Would mystically pray for bread,

Meaning by that an ample store,

Yet lit’rally received no more;

And, while these holy drudges starv’d,

The lazy ones, for which they serv’d,

Indulg’d their ease, with all the graces

Of health and plenty in their faces.

The soldiers, that were forc’d to fight,

If they surviv’d, got honour by’t;

Though some, that shunn’d the bloody fray,

Had limbs shot off, that ran away:

Some valiant gen’rals fought the foe;

Others took bribes to let them go:

Some ventur’d always where ’twas warm,

Lost now a leg, and then an arm;

Till quite disabled, and put by,

They liv’d on half their salary;

While others never came in play,

And staid at home for double pay.

Their kings were serv’d, but knavishly,

Cheated by their own ministry;

Many, that for their welfare slaved,

Robbing the very crown they saved:

Pensions were small, and they liv’d high,

Yet boasted of their honesty.

Calling, whene’er they strain’d their right,

The slipp’ry trick a perquisite;

And when folks understood their cant,

They chang’d that for emolument;

Unwilling to be short or plain,

In any thing concerning gain;

For there was not a bee but would

Get more, I won’t say, than he should;

But than he dar’d to let them know,

That pay’d for’t; as your gamesters do,

That, though at fair play, ne’er will own

Before the losers that they’ve won.

But who can all their frauds repeat?

The very stuff which in the street

They sold for dirt t’ enrich the ground,

Was often by the buyers found

Sophisticated with a quarter

Of good-for-nothing stones and mortar;

Though Flail had little cause to mutter.

Who sold the other salt for butter.

Justice herself, fam’d for fair dealing,

By blindness had not lost her feeling;

Her left hand, which the scales should hold,

Had often dropt ’em, brib’d with gold;

And, though she seem’d impartial,

Where punishment was corporal,

Pretended to a reg’lar course,

In murder, and all crimes of force;

Though some first pillory’d for cheating,

Were hang’d in hemp of their own beating;

Yet, it was thought, the sword she bore

Check’d but the desp’rate and the poor;

That, urg’d by mere necessity,

Were ty’d up to the wretched tree

For crimes, which not deserv’d that fate,

But to secure the rich and great.

Thus every part was full of vice,

Yet the whole mass a paradise;

Flatter’d in peace, and fear’d in wars

They were th’ esteem of foreigners,

And lavish of their wealth and lives,

The balance of all other hives.

Such were the blessings of that state;

Their crimes conspir’d to make them great:

And virtue, who from politics

Has learn’d a thousand cunning tricks,

Was, by their happy influence,

Made friends with vice: And ever since,

The worst of all the multitude

Did something for the common good.

This was the state’s craft, that maintain’d

The whole of which each part complain’d:

This, as in music harmony

Made jarrings in the main agree,

Parties directly opposite,

Assist each other, as ’twere for spite;

And temp’rance with sobriety, 175

Serve drunkenness and gluttony.

The root of evil, avarice,

That damn’d ill-natur’d baneful vice,

Was slave to prodigality,

That noble sin; whilst luxury

Employ’d a million of the poor,

And odious pride a million more:

Envy itself, and vanity,

Were ministers of industry;

Their darling folly, fickleness,

In diet, furniture, and dress,

That strange ridic’lous vice, was made

The very wheel that turn’d the trade.

Their laws and clothes were equally

Objects of mutability!

For, what was well done for a time,

In half a year became a crime;

Yet while they altered thus their laws,

Still finding and correcting flaws,

They mended by inconstancy

Faults, which no prudence could foresee.

Thus vice nurs’d ingenuity,

Which join’d the time and industry,

Had carry’d life’s conveniences,

Its real pleasures, comforts, ease,

To such a height, the very poor }

Liv’d better than the rich before.

And nothing could be added more.

How vain is mortal happiness!

Had they but known the bounds of bliss;

And that perfection here below

Is more than gods can well bestow;

The grumbling brutes had been content

With ministers and government.

But they, at every ill success,

Like creatures lost without redress,

Curs’d politicians, armies, fleets;

While every one cry’d, damn the cheats,

And would, though conscious of his own,

In others barb’rously bear none.

One, that had got a princely store,

By cheating master, king, and poor,

Dar’d cry aloud, the land must sink

For all its fraud; and whom d’ye think

The sermonizing rascal chid?

A glover that sold lamb for kid.

The least thing was not done amiss,

Or cross’d the public business;

But all the rogues cry’d brazenly,

Good gods, had we but honesty!

Merc’ry smil’d at th’ impudence,

And others call’d it want of sense,

Always to rail at what they lov’d:

But Jove with indignation mov’d,

At last in anger swore, he’d rid

The bawling hive of fraud; and did.

The very moment it departs,

And honesty fills all their hearts;

There shows ’em, like th’ instructive tree,

Those crimes which they’re asham’d to see;

Which now in silence they confess,

By blushing at their ugliness:

Like children, that would hide their faults,

And by their colour own their thoughts:

Imag’ning, when they’re look’d upon,

That others see what they have done.

But, O ye gods! what consternation,

How vast and sudden was th’ alteration!

In half an hour, the nation round,

Meat fell a penny in the pound.

The mask hypocrisy’s sitting down,

From the great statesman to the clown:

And in some borrow’d looks well known,

Appear’d like strangers in their own.

The bar was silent from that day;

For now the willing debtors pay,

Ev’n what’s by creditors forgot;

Who quitted them that had it not.

Those that were in the wrong, stood mute,

And dropt the patch’d vexatious suit:

On which since nothing else can thrive,

Than lawyers in an honest hive,

All, except those that got enough,

With inkhorns by their sides troop’d off.

Justice hang’d some, set others free;

And after gaol delivery,

Her presence being no more requir’d,

With all her train and pomp retir’d.

First march’d some smiths with locks and grates,

Fetters, and doors with iron plates:

Next gaolers, turnkeys and assistants:

Before the goddess, at some distance,

Her chief and faithful minister,

’Squire Catch, the law’s great finisher,

Bore not th’ imaginary sword,

But his own tools, an ax and cord:

Then on a cloud the hood-wink’d fair,

Justice herself was push’d by air:

About her chariot, and behind,

Were serjeants, bums of every kind,

Tip-staffs, and all those officers,

That squeeze a living out of tears.

Though physic liv’d, while folks were ill,

None would prescribe, but bees of skill,

Which through the hive dispers’d so wide,

That none of them had need to ride;

Wav’d vain disputes, and strove to free

The patients of their misery;

Left drugs in cheating countries grown,

And us’d the product of their own;

Knowing the gods sent no disease,

To nations without remedies.

Their clergy rous’d from laziness,

Laid not their charge on journey-bees;

But serv’d themselves, exempt from vice,

The gods with pray’r and sacrifice;

All those, that were unfit, or knew,

Their service might be spar’d, withdrew:

Nor was their business for so many,

(If th’ honest stand in need of any,)

Few only with the high-priest staid,

To whom the rest obedience paid:

Himself employ’d in holy cares;

Resign’d to others state-affairs.

He chas’d no starv’ling from his door,

Nor pinch’d the wages of the poor:

But at his house the hungry’s fed, }

The hireling finds unmeasur’d bread,

The needy trav’ller board and bed.

Among the king’s great ministers,

And all th’ inferior officers,

The change was great; for frugally

They now liv’d on their salary:

That a poor bee should ten times come

To ask his due, a trifling sum,

And by some well-hir’d clerk be made

To give a crown, or ne’er be paid,

Would now be call’d a downright cheat,

Though formerly a perquisite.

All places manag’d first by three,

Who watch’d each other’s knavery

And often for a fellow-feeling,

Promoted one another’s stealing,

Are happily supply’d by one,