any real existence; that is, according to your own definition, you profess yourself a skeptic. But I neither said nor thought the reality of sensible things was to be defined after that manner. To me it is evident, for the reasons you allow of, that sensible things cannot exist otherwise than in a mind or spirit. Whence I conclude, not that they have no real existence, but that, seeing they depend not on my thought, and have an existence distinct from being perceived by me, there must be some other mind wherein they exist. As sure, therefore, as the sensiblė world really exists, so sure is there an infinite, omnipresent Spirit, who contains and supports it.

Hylas. What! This is no more than I and all Christians hold; nay, and all others too who believe there is a God, and that He knows and comprehends all things.

Philonous. Aye, but here lies the difference. Men commonly believe that all things are known or perceived by God, because they believe the being of a God; whereas I, on the other side, immediately and necessarily conclude the being of a God, because all sensible things must be perceived by Him.

Hylas. It is plain I do not now think with the philosophers, nor yet altogether with the vulgar. I would know how the case stands in that respect; precisely what you have added to or altered in my former notions.

Philonous. I do not pretend to be a setter-up of new notions. My endeavors tend only to unite and place in a clearer light that truth which was before shared between the vulgar and the philosophers, the former being of opinion that those things they immediately perceive are the real things, and the latter, that the things immediately perceived are ideas which exist only in the mind. Which two notions, put together, do in effect constitute the substance of what I advance.

Hylas. I have been a long time distrusting my senses; methought I saw things by a dim light and through false glasses. Now the glasses are removed, and a new light breaks in upon my understanding. I am clearly convinced that I see things in their native forms, and am no longer in pain about their unknown natures or absolute existence. This is the state I find myself in at present; though, indeed, the course that brought me to it I do not yet thoroughly comprehend. You set out

upon the same principles that Academics, Cartesians, and the like sects usually do, and for a long time it looked as if you were advancing their philosophical skepticism; but in the end your conclusions are directly opposite to theirs.

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Philonous. You see, Hylas, the water of yonder fountain, how it is forced upwards, in a round column, to a certain height, at which it breaks, and falls back into the basin from whence it rose; its ascent as well as descent proceeding from the same uniform law or principle of gravitation. Just so, the same principles which at first view lead to skepticism, pursued to a certain point, bring men back to common sense.

BERNARD MANDEVILLE

THE FABLE OF THE BEES

OR, PRIVATE VICES PUBLIC BENEFITS

1714, 1723

[The Fable of the Bees is a composite work, consisting of "The Grumbling Hive," a poem which had been separately published in 1705, the "Inquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue" (which appeared in the 1714 volume), the "Search into the Nature of Society" (which was added in 1723), and other Essays and Remarks. The book was denounced as a nuisance by the Grand Jury of Middlesex, in 1723, and many replies to it were published, by Berkeley, among others, in Alciphron. Some of the positions of Shaftesbury which Mandeville attacks in detail will be found represented in the extracts from Characteristics; see above, pages 223-230.]

AN INQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF MORAL VIRTUE

ALL untaught animals are only solicitous of pleasing themselves, and naturally follow the bent of their own inclinations, without considering the good or harm that from their being pleased will accrue to others. This is the reason that in the wild state of nature those creatures are fittest to live peaceably together in great numbers that discover the least of understanding, and have the fewest appetites to gratify; and consequently no species of animals is, without the curb of government, less capable of agreeing long together in multitudes than that of man. Yet such are his qualities, whether good or bad I shall not determine, that no creature besides himself can ever be made sociable; but being an extraordinary selfish and headstrong, as well as cunning animal, however he may be subdued by superior strength, it is impossible by force alone to make him tractable, and receive the improvements he is capable of.

The chief thing, therefore, which lawgivers and other wise men that have labored for the establishment of society, have endeavored, has been to make the people they were to govern believe that it was more beneficial for everybody to conquer than indulge his appetites, and much better to mind the public

than what seemed his private interest. As this has always been a very difficult task, so no wit or eloquence has been left untried to compass it, and the moralists and philosophers of all ages employed their utmost skill to prove the truth of so useful an assertion. But whether mankind would have ever believed it or not, it is not likely that anybody could have persuaded them to disapprove of their natural inclinations, or prefer the good of others to their own, if at the same time he had not showed them an equivalent to be enjoyed as a reward for the violence which by so doing they of necessity must commit upon themselves. Those that have undertaken to civilize mankind were not ignorant of this; but being unable to give so many real rewards as would satisfy all persons for every individual action, they were forced to contrive an imaginary one, that as a general equivalent for the trouble of self-denial should serve on all occasions, and, without costing anything either to themselves or others, be yet a most acceptable recompense to the receivers.

They thoroughly examined all the strength and frailties of our nature, and, observing that none were either so savage as not to be charmed with praise, or so despicable as patiently to bear contempt, justly concluded that flattery must be the most powerful argument that could be used to human creatures. Making use of this bewitching engine, they extolled the excellency of our nature above other animals, and, setting forth with unbounded praises the wonders of our sagacity and vastness of understanding, bestowed a thousand encomiums on the rationality of our souls, by the help of which we were capable of performing the most noble achievements. Having by this artful way of flattery insinuated themselves into the hearts of men, they began to instruct them in the notions of honor and shame; representing the one as the worst of all evils, and the other as the highest good to which mortals could aspire. Which being done, they laid before them how unbecoming it was the dignity of such sublime creatures to be solicitous about gratifying those appetites which they had in common with brutes, and at the same time unmindful of those higher qualities that gave them the preeminence over all visible things. They indeed confessed that those impulses of nature were very pressing, that it was troublesome to resist, and very difficult wholly to subdue them. But this they only used as an argument to

demonstrate how glorious the conquest of them was, on the one hand, and how scandalous, on the other, not to attempt it.

To introduce, moreover, an emulation amongst men, they divided the whole species into two classes, vastly differing from one another. The one consisted of abject, low-minded people, that, always hunting after immediate enjoyment, were wholly incapable of self-denial, and, without regard to the good of others, had no higher aim than their private advantage; such as, being enslaved by voluptuousness, yielded without resistance to every gross desire, and made no use of their rational faculties but to heighten their sensual pleasure. These vile groveling wretches, they said, were the dross of their kind, and, having only the shape of men, differed from brutes in nothing but their outward figure. But the other class was made up of lofty, high-spirited creatures, that, free from sordid selfishness, esteemed the improvements of the mind to be their fairest possessions, and, setting a true value upon themselves, took no delight but in embellishing that part in which their excellency consisted; such as, despising whatever they had in common with irrational creatures, opposed by the help of reason their most violent inclinations, and, making a continual war with themselves to promote the peace of others, aimed at no less than the public welfare and the conquest of their own passion, Fortior est qui se quam qui fortissima vincit Mania.1

These they called the true representatives of their sublime species, exceeding in worth the first class by more degrees than that itself was superior to the beasts of the field. . .

This was (or at least might have been) the manner after which savage man was broke; from whence it is evident that the first rudiments of morality, broached by skillful politicians to render men useful to each other as well as tractable, were chiefly contrived that the ambitious might reap the more benefit from, and govern vast numbers of, them, with the greater ease and security. This foundation of politics being once laid, it is impossible that man should long remain uncivilized; for even those who only strove to gratify their appetites, being continually crossed by others of the same stamp, could not but observe that, whenever they checked their inclinations, or but 1 "He who conquers himself is stronger than he who overcomes the strongest walls."