A Theory of Moral Sentiments is Adam Smith’s first book. Compared to Wealth of Nations, his magnum opus, this book was less well-known. Steve Dubner discussed it extensively in a Freakonomics series, which argued that Smith has been misread by modern economists like Milton Friedman, and that the real Adam Smith was in fact an “affable moral philosopher”, rather than “the patron saint of cutthroat capitalism”. The podcast piqued my interest in Adam Smith and his theory of moral sentiments. The book was not an easy read for me, as it took some time to adjust to the 18th-century writing style. However, I think the time was well spent.
Central to Smith’s theory is the proposition that the perception of right and wrong comes from sense and feeling rather than reason. Human happiness, according to Smith, chiefly “arises from the consciousness of being beloved”. Because we desire to be loved by our brethren— taken to mean relatives, friends, neighbors, and countrymen—we seek their approval and avoid their disapprobation. It is through this pursuit of love and happiness humans acquire sympathy, the ability to share and approve the feelings or interests of another person. However, to truly sympathize with another’s feelings—to empathize with them (although Smith never used this term)—we must first overcome our own selfishness.
To make this crucial point, Smith proposes a thought experiment, which imagines how “a man of humanity in Europe” would react to the news that a huge earthquake has suddenly destroyed China and all its people. He would, Smith wrote,
“express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that unhappy people, he would make many melancholy reflections upon the precariousness of human life, and the vanity of all the labours of man, which could thus be annihilated in a moment. He would too, perhaps, if he was a man of speculation, enter into many reasonings concerning the effects which this disaster might produce upon the commerce of Europe, and the trade and business of the world in general.”
However, after “all this fine philosophy was over”, the man would return to his regular life as if nothing had happened. Indeed, an accident of trivial scale—compared to that catastrophe in China—befallen on him, say the loss of a little finger, would cause him to lose more sleep than what he would over “the destruction of that immense multitude”. If this is so, Smith asks, would this person be willing to sacrifice the lives of all those Chinese to prevent that “paltry misfortune to himself”? Smith claims humankind has never produced a villain that could be capable of entertaining such a horrific thought. On this point I disagree with him, though his faith in humanity is understandable. After all, Smith has never witnessed the world wars, heard of Holocaust, or met the infamous dictators of the 20th century.
Smith claims what prevents most people from placing their own interests above the greater interests of others is an impartial spectator that grows and resides within them. The impartial spectator is “the great judge and arbiter of our conduct”, who teaches us that
“we are but one of the multitude, in no respect better than any other in it; and that when we prefer ourselves so shamefully and so blindly to others, we become the proper objects of resentment, abhorrence, and execration. It is from him only that we learn the real littleness of ourselves, and of whatever relates to ourselves, and the natural misrepresentations of self-love”.
Thus, to become a moral person is to forge and train this impartial spectator, and to be guided by him. There is a subtle but crucial difference between a moral person and a virtuous one: the former merely follows the impartial spectator’s rules, whereas the latter adopts and embodies his moral sentiments. In some sense, the virtuous person becomes a proxy of the spectator, unified with him in both spirit and conduct, thereby entering a state of spiritual freedom, at which the bounds of moral constraints are no longer felt.
Impartiality is central to many theories of morality. For example, John Rawls’ “veil of ignorance” serves as an instrument of impartiality in his theory of justice. Smith’s impartial spectator also resembles what a Confucianist would call “inner sage” (内圣), or the “innate moral knowledge” (良知) in Wang Yangming’s Theory of Mind （心学）. The unifying state achieved by a virtuous person, I believe, is “知行合一” in the Theory of Mind, and the process through which to arrive at that state is called “致良知”. Like Smith, Wang also emphasizes sympathy as the approach to morality. In Instruction for Practical Living (传习录)， he writes,
“世之君子惟务致其良知，则自能公是非，同好恶，视人犹己，视国犹家，而以天地万物为一体。”
Thus, with the help of the impartial spectator (良知), the virtuous person (君子) can be just (公是非) and have empathy (同好恶，视人犹己).
Smith believes moral norms first emerge to forbid actions that inflict pains on a person, such as endangering their life and body, depriving their possessions and property, and violating their rights to basic liberty. This is because humans are disposed to sympathize with sorrow more strongly than with joy. Moral norms are extremely important, as they form the laws of justice, without which human society cannot survive. Yet, the sense of justice only enables people to behave with minimum propriety and decency. To Smith, it is a mere “negative virtue” that does no real positive good.
Throughout much of the book, Smith explains the transition from adhering to basic moral norms to cultivating positive virtues. The mechanism is still sympathizing, and the secret is to overcome the less desirable aspects of human nature.
What makes us jealous of the success or good fortune of another person? Again, the reason is that humans are generally more focused on avoiding pain than seeking happiness. As a result, it is more difficult for us to will the good of our brethren—i.e., to truly love them—than to avoid harm to their person and property. The sentiment of envy is strongest when the person is regarded as an upstart. As Smith notes,
“The man who, by some sudden revolution of fortune, is lifted up all at once into a condition of life, greatly above what he had formerly lived in, may be assured that the congratulations of his best friends are not all of them perfectly sincere.”
However, thanks to the impartial spectator, we are also ashamed of our own envy, and “often pretend, and sometimes really wish to sympathize with the joy of others”. A man who fought and won this battle with our sentiment of envy is capable of that magnanimous act of willing the good of our brethren, loving them as much as we love ourselves. He may also learn to maintain prudence and humility no matter what stellar successes he has just achieved and how much he thinks he is entitled to boast about them. Sympathy reminds him that, by overly displaying joy in his achievements, he could arouse among his brethren envy and jealousy, and the shame and self-pity that come with it. Therefore, he always “endeavors, as much as he can, to smother his joy, and keep down that elevation of mind with which his new circumstances naturally inspire him.”
Smith was not utilitarian, despite being revered as the father of economics—which is built on the notion of utility-maximizing homo economicus—and invested as a god of capitalism. As the book makes abundantly clear, Smith did not endorse, much less celebrate, cold-blooded self-interest. His famous “invisible hand” explains why society can work well despite, not because of its members being utterly self-interested. Surprisingly, he made the same point in this book, which was first published in 1759, seventeen years before the Wealth of Nations. He writes that the rich,
“though they mean only their own conveniency… are led by an invisible hand to make nearly the same distribution of the necessaries of life, which would have been made, had the earth been divided into equal portions among all its inhabitants, and thus without intending it, without knowing it, advance the interest of the society, and afford means to the multiplication of the species.”
If Smith believes that self-interest can be guided toward positive outcomes by the invisible hand, he clearly opposes such consequentialism in matters of morality. He was deeply troubled by the fact that “the world judges by the event, and not by the design”, which he called “the great discouragement of virtue” throughout the ages. Smith conceded that, in the realm of justice, punishment should be proportional to the consequences of our actions, rather than our intentions. However, he forcefully argues that the opposite should apply when assessing our own character and conduct.
In this regard, Smith is nearly a moral idealist. He believes we should strive for “exact propriety and perfection” rather than settle for the lower level “which is commonly attained” by most people. Smith argues that focusing on the inferior standard is what led many historical figures to become arrogant, presumptuous, and extravagantly self-admiring. Self-admiration may be necessary for their success, as it drives the great men to pursue ventures that a more cautious mind would never consider. “When crowned with success”, however, this presumption “has often betrayed them into a vanity that approached almost insanity and folly”, and “precipitated them into many rash and sometimes ruinous adventures”. Somehow, Elon Musk’s face crossed my mind when I read the above passage.
Since to be loved by others generally means to receive their attention and praise, a great deal of human energy has been consumed by the struggle to stand out and be recognized. Smith refers to this desire for attention and praise as “vanity”. Although vanity is not inherently a vice, it becomes problematic when it is directed towards the wrong objects. Therefore, writes Smith,
“the great secret of education is to direct vanity to proper objects”.
Because a man sees wealth and power attract attention and submission, he is often compelled to pursue them. Similarly, observing that fame and glory earn respect and praise, he aspires to be famous and honored. Consequently, he mistakenly equates these pursuits with achieving love and happiness. Smith tells us that
“nature has endowed a man, not only with a desire of being approved of, but with a desire of being what ought to be approved of.”
Wealth, power, fame, and glory all signal approval from others, but not necessarily “what ought to be approved of”. To Smith, pursuing praise and pursuing what is praiseworthy are distinctly different. The former often leads us to chase misguided objects of vanity, while the latter inspires a genuine love of virtue. A virtuous man derives little pleasure from praise where it is not due; instead, he often feels the greatest satisfaction in doing what is praiseworthy, even though “no praise is ever to be bestowed upon it”. Thus, “to be that thing which deserves approbation” is “an object of the highest” to him. If succeeded in this endeavor, he no longer needs approval from others. He would become assured of “the perfect propriety of every part of his own conduct” and be content with his self-approbation, which, according to Smith, is virtue itself, the only thing which he can and should care about.
Smith’s emphasis on praise-worthiness rather than praise, and on self-approbation rather than approval by others, appears to be rooted in Stoicism. Smith writes that the Stoics believes
“human life…ought to be regarded but as a mere two-penny stake. …Our only anxious concern ought to be, not about the stake, but about the proper method of playing. If we placed our happiness in winning the stake, we placed it in what depended upon causes beyond our power, and out of our direction. We necessarily exposed ourselves to perpetual fear and uneasiness, and frequently to grievous and mortifying disappointments. If we placed it in playing well, in playing fairly, in playing wisely and skillfully; in the propriety of our own conduct in short; we placed it in what, by proper discipline, education, and attention, might be altogether in our own power, and under our own direction. Our happiness was perfectly secure, and beyond the reach of fortune.”
In a nutshell, to shield our happiness from the whims of fortune, we should remain as indifferent as possible to praise, recognition, and all the superficial allurements of vanity. This philosophy aligns with a precept I learned many years ago from a Chinese author: 但行好事，莫问前程 (Focus on doing the right thing, rather than on achieving the perfect outcome). It also echoes my favorite quote from Daniel McFadden’s Nobel Prize autobiography (the emphasis is mine):
“My parents taught me that to lead a virtuous life, I should be modest, take my satisfaction from work done well, and avoid being drawn into competition for status and rewards.”
This idea is precisely what I have been trying to tell any of my doctoral students who would listen: To truly enjoy academia, you must find joy in the research itself, independent of any external rewards it might bring, whether that’s funding, awards, or even the opportunity to change the world.
Marco Nie
April 14, 2024, Evanston, IL.