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 LIST OF WORKS BY ADAM SMITH. 
 
 1. In a periodical called the Edinburgh Eeview, published in 1755, for a 
 
 few numbers, a Eeview of Dr. Johnson's Dictionary, and Observa- 
 tions on the State of Learning in Europe. 
 
 2. Theory of Moral . Sentiments and Dissertation on the Origin of 
 
 Language. 1759. 
 
 3. Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. 1776. 
 
 4. A volume of Essays, published posthumously, containing — 
 
 A History of Astronom}'. 
 
 A History of Ancient Physics. 
 
 A History of Ancient Logic and Metaphysics. 
 
 An Essay on the Imitative Arts. 
 
 On certain English and Italian Verses. 
 
 On the External Senses.
 
 ENGLISH PHILOSOPHERS 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 (1723— 1790J 
 
 J. A. FARRER 
 
 AUTHOR of "primitive MANNERS AND CUSTOMS," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 a. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 1881
 
 PEEFACB 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 The appearance of the first instalment of the Series of 
 English Philosophers affords the Editor an opportunity of 
 defining the position and aim of this and the succeeding 
 volumes. We live in an age of series : Art, Science, 
 Letters, are each represented by one or more; it is the object 
 of the present Series to add Philosophy to the list of subjects 
 which are daily becoming more and more popular. Had it 
 been our aim to produce a History of Philosophy in the 
 interests of any one school of thought, co-operation would 
 have been well-nigh impracticable. Such, however, is not 
 our object. We seek to lay before the reader what each 
 English Philosopher thought and wrote about the problems 
 with which he dealt, not what we may think he ought to 
 have thought and written. Criticism will be suggested rather 
 than indulged in, and these volumes will be expositions rather 
 than reviews. The size and number of the volumes compiled 
 by each leading Philosopher are chiefly due to V.ie necessity^ 
 which Philosophers have generally considered imperative, of 
 demolishing all previous systems of Philosophy before they
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 commence the work of constructing their own. Of this work 
 of destruction little will be found in these volumes; we propose 
 to lay stress on what a Philosopher did rather than on what he 
 undid. In the summary will be found a general survey of the 
 main criticisms that have been passed upon the views of the 
 Philosopher who forms the subject of the work, and in the 
 bibliographic appendix the reader will be directed to sources 
 of more detailed criticism than the size and nature of the 
 volumes in the Series would permit. The lives of Philosophers 
 are not, as a rule^ eventful^ the biographies will consequently 
 be brief. It is hoped that the Series, when complete, will 
 supply a comprehensive History of English Philosophy. It 
 will include an Introduction to the Study of Philosophy, by 
 Professor H. Sidgwick. 
 
 OxFOBD, Nov.t 1880.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 BlOGEAPHICAL SkETCII . 1 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Historical Inteoduction 22 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 The Phenomena of Sympathy 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Moral Approbation, and the Feeling of Propriety . . 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The Feeling of Merit and Demerit 46 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Influence of Prosperity or Adversity. Chance, and Custom 
 
 UPON Moral Sentiments 56 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Theory of Conscience and Duty 72 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Theory of Moral Principles 88 
 
 A 2
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Relation of Religion to Mokality .... 98 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 The Chabacter of Vietue 107 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Adam Smith's Theoey of Happiness 127 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Adam Smith's Theoey of Final Causes in Ethics . . 135 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Adam Smith's Theory of Utility 144 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The Relation of Adam Smith's Theory to other Systems 
 
 of Morality 152 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Review of the Principal Criticisms of Adam Smith's Theobt 172
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 The fame of Adam Smith rests so deservedly on his great work, 
 the Wealth of Naiiojis, that the fact is apt to he lost sight of, 
 that long hefore he distinguished himself as a political econo- 
 mist he had gained a reputation, not confined to his own 
 country, hy his speculations in moral philosophy. The Theory 
 of Moral Sentiments was first published in 1759, when its 
 author was thirty-six ; the Wealth of Nations in 1776, when 
 he was fifty-three. The success of the latter soon eclipsed that 
 of his first work, but the wide celebrity which soon attended 
 the former is attested by the flict of tlie sort of competition 
 that ensued for translating it into French. Rochefoucauld, 
 grandson of the famous author of the Afaxims, got so far in a 
 translalion of it as the end of the first Part, when a complete 
 transhition by the Abbo Blavet compelled him to renounce the 
 continuance of his work. The Abbe M(n-cllet — so conspicuous 
 a figure in the French literature of that period — speaks of him- 
 self in his Memoirs as having been impressed by Adam Smith's 
 Theorij with a great idea of its author's wisdom and depth of 
 thought.' 
 
 * M^inoirea, i. 211. "SaTheorie des Sentimens Moranx m'avnit donnd 
 nne graiide iden de sa sa;jjacite et de sa pi-ofondem'." Yet, according to 
 Giimin, it hud no success iu Paris. Corresj)., iv. 291. 
 
 B
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 The puLlicatlon of these two books, the only writing's pub- 
 lished by their author in his lifetime, are strictly speaking- the 
 only episodes which form anything" like landmarks in Adam 
 Smitli's career. The sixty-seven years of his life (1723-90) 
 were in other respects strang-ely destitute of what are called 
 " events ;" and beyond the adventure of his childhood, when 
 he was carried away by g-ipsies but soon rescued, nothing 
 extraordinary ever occurred to ruffle the even surface of his 
 existence. 
 
 If, therefore, the happiness of an individual, like that of a 
 nation, may be taken to vary inversely with the materials 
 afforded by them to the biographer or the historian, Adam 
 Smith may be considered to have attained no mean deg-ree of 
 human felicity. From his ideal of life, political ambition and 
 greatness were altogether excluded ; it was his creed that 
 happiness was equal in every lot, and that contentment alone 
 was necessary to ensure it. " What,'^ he ask?;, " can be added 
 to the happiness of the man who is in health, who is out of 
 debt, and has a clear conscience ? " 
 
 To this simple standard, circumstances assisted him to mould 
 his life. His health, delicate in his early years, became 
 stronger with age ; necessity never compelled him to seek a 
 competence in uncongenial pursuits ; nor did a tranquil life of 
 learning ever tempt him into paths at variance with the laws 
 of his moral being or his country. In several passages of his 
 Moral Sentiments, it will appear that he took no pains to con- 
 ceal his preference for the old Epicurean theory of life, that in 
 case of body and peace of mind consists happiness, the goal of 
 all desire. 
 
 But the charm of such a formula of life is perhaps more 
 obvious than its rendering into an actual state of existence. 
 Ease of body does not always come for the wishing; and peace 
 of mind often lies still further from command. The advan-
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 3 
 
 tag-e of the formula is, that it sets before us a definite aim, and 
 alTords us at any time a measure of the happiness we enjoy 
 or of that we see around us. Judged by this standard, 
 however, the conchision must be — and it is a conclusion from 
 which Adam Smith does not shrhik — that the lot of a bec'srar 
 may be equal in point of happiness to that of a king". 
 
 The result of this Epicurean theory of life on Adam Smith 
 was, fortunately for the world, a strong preference for the life 
 of learning and literature over the professional or political life. 
 He abjured from the first all anxiety for the prizes held out by 
 the various professions to candidates for wealth or reputation. 
 Though sent to Bailiol at seventeen as a Snell exhibitioner, 
 for the purpose of fitting himself for service in the Church of 
 England, he preferred so much the peace of his own mind to 
 the wishes of his friends and relations, that, when he left Ox- 
 ford after a residence of seven years, he declined to enter into 
 the ecclesiastical profession at all, and he returned to Scotland 
 with the sole and simple hope of obtaining through literature 
 some post of moderate preferment more suitable to his incli- 
 nations. 
 
 Fortune seems to have favoured him in making such a 
 course possible, for after leaving Oxford he spent two years at 
 home with his mother at Kirkaldy. He had not to encounter 
 the difficulties which compelled Hume to practise frugality 
 abroad, in order to preserve his independence. His father, who 
 had died a few months before his birth, had been private secre- 
 tary to the Principal Secretary of State for Scotland, and after 
 that Comptroller of the Customs at Kirkaldy. Adam Smith 
 was, moreover, an only child, and if there was not wealth at 
 home, there was the competence which was all he desired. 
 
 By the circumstances of his birth, his education, like that of 
 David Hume, devolved in his early years upon his mother, of 
 whom one would gladly know more than has been vouehsaled 
 
 B 2
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 by her son's biographer. She is said to have been bhimed fur 
 spoiling" him, but it is possible that what seemed to her Scotch 
 neighbours excessive indulgence meant no very exceptional 
 degree of kindness. At all events, the treatment succeeded, 
 nor had ever a mother a more devoted son. Her death, which 
 did not long precede his own, closed a life of unremitted affec- 
 tion on both sides, and was the first and greatest bereavement 
 that Adam Smith ever had to mourn. The society of his mother 
 and her niece, INIiss Douglas, who lived with them, was all that 
 he ever knew of family life; and when the small circle broke 
 up, as it did at last speedily and with short intervals of 
 survival for those who experienced the grief of the first sepa- 
 ration, Adam Smith was well-advanced in years. He survived 
 his mother only six years, his cousin about two ; and he had 
 passed sixty when the former died. 
 
 It is said, that after a disappointment in early life, Adam 
 Smith gave up all thoughts of marriage; but if he thus 
 failed of the happiest condition of life, it is equally true that 
 he was spared the greatest sorrows of human existence, and 
 a number of minor troubles and anxieties. The domestic 
 economy was entirely conducted by his cousin, and to the 
 philosopher is attributed with more than usual justice all 
 that incapacity for the common details of life with which 
 the popular conception always clothes a scholar. It is said 
 that even the fancy of a La Bruyere has scarcely imagined 
 instances of a more striking absence of mind than might be 
 actually quoted of him ;^ and from boyhood upwards he had 
 the habit of laughing and talking to himself which sometimes 
 led casual observers to inferences not to his credit. 
 
 Dugald Stewart, whose somewhat meagre memoir on Adam 
 Smith is the chief authority for all that is known of his liie, 
 
 ' See, for some anet-dotes of this kind, the Q^uarlerly Review, vol. 
 xxxvi. 200.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 5 
 
 describes hini as "certainly not fitted for the g-enernl com- 
 merce of the world or for the business of active \\{q." The 
 subject of his studies rendered him " habitually inattentive to 
 familiar objects and to common occurrences/' Even in 
 company, he was apt to be engrossed with his studies, and 
 would seem, by the motion of his lips as well as by his looks 
 and gestures, to be iu all the fervour of composition. In con- 
 versation " he was scarcely ever known to start a topic him- 
 self,'' and if he did succeed in falling in with the common 
 dialogue of conversation, "he was somewhat apt to con- 
 vey his own ideas in the form of a lecture/'' Notwith- 
 standing these defects, we are told of "the splendour of 
 his conversation," and of the inexhaustible novelty and 
 variety which belonged to it, by reason of his ready adap- 
 tation of fanciful theories to all the common topies of 
 discourse. 
 
 Of his early yeai's — often the most interesting of any, as 
 indicative of future character — singularly little remains known. 
 Some of those who were the companions of his first school 
 years at Kirkald}^, and who remained his friends for life, have 
 attested the passion he even then had for books and " the ex- 
 traordinary powers of his memory." 
 
 At the age of fourteen he was sent to the University of 
 Glasgow, where his favourite studies were mathematics and 
 natural sciences, and where he attended the lectures of Dr. 
 Hutcheson, who has been called " the father of speculative 
 ])hilosophy in Scotland in modern times,'' and whose tlieory 
 of the Moral Sense had so much influence on Adam Smith's 
 own later ethical speculations. 
 
 Beyond this reference to his studies, nothing is told of 
 Adam Smith's three years at Glasgow. His whole youth is 
 in fact a blank for his biographer. We hear of no prizes, no 
 distinctions, no friendships, no adventures, no eccentricities of
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 any kind. Nor is it much better with regard to his career at 
 Oxford, to which he was sent by the University of Glasgow 
 at the age of seventeen. Only one anecdote remains, of very 
 doubtful truth, and not mentioned by Dugald Stewart, to the 
 effect that he once incurred rebuke from the college authori- 
 ties of Balliol for having been detected in his rooms reading 
 ^iMme's Treatise on Human Nature. The story is worth men- 
 tioning, if only as an indication of the prevalent idea of Adam 
 Smithes bent of mind in his undergraduate days; and those 
 who, in spite of experience, still hold to the theory, that at the 
 bottom of every story some truth must lie, may gather from 
 this one, that even at college the future friend of the historian 
 was attracted by the bold scepticism which distinguished his 
 philosophy. 
 
 It was perhaps by reason of this attraction that at the end 
 of seven years at Oxford Adam Smith declined to take orders. 
 Leaving Oxford, which for most men means an entire change 
 of life, meant for him simply a change in the scene of his 
 studies ; a transfer of them from one place to another. Lan- 
 guages, literature, and history, could, he found, be studied as 
 well at Kiikaldy as at the chief seat of learning in England. 
 To Oxford, so different in most colleges now from what it was 
 in those dnys, he seems never to have expressed or felt the 
 gratitude which through life attached hira to Glasgow; and 
 his impressions of the English university have been immor- 
 talized by him in no flattering terms in what he has said of it 
 in his Wealth of Nations. 
 
 After nearly two years spent at home, Adam Smith removed 
 to Edinburgh, where, under the patronage of Lord Kames, so 
 well known in connexion with the Scotch literature of the last 
 century, he delivered lectures on rhetoric and belles Icttres ; and 
 the same subject formed the greater part of his lectures as 
 Professor of Logic at Glasgow, to which post he was elected
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 m 1751, at the age of twenty-eiglit. The next year he was 
 chosen Professor of Moral Philosophy at the same university ; 
 and the period of thirteen years, during* which he held this 
 situation, he ever regarded as the most useful and happy of his 
 life. 
 
 Of his lectures at Glasgow only so much has been preserved 
 as he published in the Moral Sentiments and Wealth of Nations 
 respectively. He divided his course into four parts, the first 
 relating to Natural Theology, the second to Ethics, the third 
 to the subject of Justice and the growth of Jurisprudence, the 
 fourth to Politics. Under the latter head he dealt with the 
 political institutions relating to commerce and all the subjects 
 which enter into his maturer work on the Nature and Causes 
 of the Wealth of Nations ; whilst under the second head, Ik; 
 expounded the doctrines which he afterwards published in the 
 Moral Sentiments. On the subject of Justice, it was his inten- 
 tion to write a sj'stem of natural jurisprudence, '' or a theory 
 of the general prmciples which ought to run through and be 
 the foundation of the laws of all nations.^' It was to have 
 been an improvement on the work of Grotius on the same 
 subject, and the Theory of Moral Sentimenls concludes with 
 a promise which, unfortunately, was never fulfilled. "I shall," 
 he says, "in another discourse, endeavour to give an account 
 of the general principles of law and government, and of the 
 different revolutions they have undergone in the different ages 
 and periods of society, not only in what concerns justice, but 
 in what concerns police, revenue, and arms, and whatever else 
 is the object of law. I shall not, therefore, at present, enter into 
 any further details concerning the history of jurisprudence.' 
 
 One of Adam Smithes own pupils, and afterwards for life 
 one of his most intimate friends, Dr. Millar, professor of law 
 
 ' To this Lope he still clung even in the sixth edition of his woik, pub- 
 lished the jear of his death, 1790.
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 at Glasgow, and author of an excellent work on the Origin 
 of Ranks, has left a graphic description of the great success 
 which attended these lectures at Glasgow. *' There was no 
 situation in which the abilities of Mr. Smith appeared to 
 
 greater advantage than as a professor His reputation 
 
 as a professor was accordingly raised very high, and a multi- 
 tude of students from a great distance resorted to the Univer- 
 sity, merely upon his account. Those branches of science 
 which he taught becaine fashionable at this place, and his 
 opinions were the chief topic of discussion in clubs and literary 
 societies. Even the small ])eculiaritie3 in his pronunciation 
 or manner of speaking, became frequently the objects of 
 imitation/' 
 
 It seems to have been during the early years of his pro- 
 fessorship at Glasgow that Adam Smith formed that friendship 
 with David Hume which forms so pleasing a feature in the 
 life of both of them, and is so memorable in the history of 
 literary attachments. There was sufficient sameness in the 
 fundamental characteristics and opinions of each of them, 
 together with sufficient diiferences on minor points, to ensure 
 the permanence of their mutual affection. Both took tlie 
 same interest in questions of moral philosophy and political 
 economy ; both had a certain simplicity and gentleness of 
 character ; both held the same ideas of the relation of natural 
 to revealed religion. 
 
 A letter written by Hume to his friend in 1759, on the 
 occasion of the publication of his Moral Sentiments, is of in- 
 terest, not only as characteristic of the friendship between 
 them, but as indicative of the good reception which the book 
 immediately met with from all jicrsons competent to judge of 
 it. The letter is dated April 1-2, 1759 :— 
 
 " I give you thanks for the agreeable present of your T/ieori/. 
 Wcddcrburne and 1 made presents of our copies to such of our
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 acquaintances as we thought good judg-es, and proper to spread 
 the reputation of the book. I sent one to the Duke of Argyll, 
 to Lord Lyttleton, Horace Walpole, Soame Jennyns, and 
 Burke, an Irish gentleman, who wrote lately a very pretty 
 treatise ou the Sublime. Millar desired my permission to 
 send one in j'our name to Dr. AVarburton. I have delayed 
 writing till I could tell you something of the success of the 
 book, and could prognosticate, with some probability, whether 
 it should be finally damned to oblivion, or should be registered 
 in the temple of immortality. Though it has been published 
 only a few weeks, I think there appear already such strong 
 
 symptoms, that I can almost venture to foretell its fate 
 
 I am afraid of Lord Kames's Laio Tracts. A man might as 
 W'ell think of making a fine sauce by a mixture of wormwood 
 and aloes as an agrsealjle composition by joining metaphysics 
 and Scotch law. .... I believe I have mentioned to you 
 already Helvetius's book de VEsprlt. It is worth your read- 
 ing, not for its philosophy, which I do not highly value, but 
 for its agi'eeable composition. I had a letter from him a few 
 days ago wherein he tells me that my name was much oftener 
 in the manuscript, but that the censor of books at Paris oldigcd 
 
 him to strike it out But what is all this to my book ? 
 
 say you. My dear Mr. Smith, have patience : compose your- 
 self to tranquillity; show 3-oursclf a philosopher in practice as 
 well as profession ; think ou the emptiness, and rashness, and 
 futility of the common judgment of men ; how little they are 
 regulated by reason in any subject, much more in philosophical 
 subjects, which so far exceed the comprehension of the vulgar. 
 .... A wise man's kingdom is his own breast ; or, if he ever 
 looks farther, it will only be to the judgment of a select few, 
 who are free from prejudices and capable of examining his 
 work. Nothing indeed can be a stronger presumption of 
 falsehood than the approbation of the multitude ; and Phociou,
 
 10 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 3'on know, always suspected himself of some blunder wlieu he 
 was attended with the applauses of the populace. 
 
 " Supposing-, therefore, that you have duly prepared yourself 
 for the woist by all these reflections, I proceed to tell you the 
 melancholy news, that your book has been very unfortunate, 
 for the public seem disposed to applaud it extremely. It was 
 looked for by the foolish people with some impatience ; and 
 the mob of literati are beginning- already to be very loud in its 
 praises. Three bishops called yesterday at Millar's shop in 
 order to buy copies and to ask questions about its author. 
 The Bishop of Peterborough said be had passed the evening 
 in a company where he heard it extolled above all books in 
 the world. The Duke of Argyll is more decisive than he uses 
 to be in its favour. I suppose he either considers it an exotic 
 or thinks the author will be serviceable to him in the Glasgow 
 elections. Lord Lyttleton says that Robertson, and Smith, and 
 Bower are the glories of English literature. Oswald protests 
 he does not know whether he has reaped more instruction or 
 entertainment from it. But you may easily judge what reli- 
 ance can be placed on his judgment who has been engaged all 
 his lii'e in public business, and who never sees any faults in 
 his friends. Millar exults and brags that two-thirds of the 
 edition are already sold, and that it is sure of success. You 
 see what a son of earth that is, to value books only by the 
 profit they bring him. In that view^ I believe, it may prove 
 a very good book. 
 
 " Charles Townsend, who passes for the cleverest fellow in 
 England, is so taken with the performance that he said to 
 Oswald he would put the Duke of Buccleuch under the author's 
 care, and would make it worth his while to accept of that 
 charge. As soon as I heard this I called on him twice, with 
 a view of talking* with him about the matter, and of con- 
 vincing Lira of the propriety of sending that young nobleman
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. ii 
 
 to Glasg-ow ; for I could not hope that he could offer ycu any 
 terms which would tempt you to renounce your professorship. 
 But I missed him 
 
 " In recompense for so many morlifying- thing's, which no- 
 thing; but truth could have extorted from me, and which I 
 could easily have multiplied to a greater number, I doubt not 
 but you are so good a Christian as to return good for evil ; 
 and to flatter my vanity by telling me that all the godly in 
 Scotland abuse me for my account of John Knox and the 
 Reformation," &c. 
 
 The invitation referred to by Hume in this letter to travel 
 with the Dulce of Bucclcuch came in about four years time j 
 and the liberal terms in which the proposal was made, together 
 with the strong temptation to travel^ led to a final resignation 
 of the Glasgow professorship. 
 
 But here again curiosity is doomed to disappointment; for 
 Adam Smith wrote no journal of his travels abroad, and he 
 had such an aversion to leiter-writing that no records of this 
 sort preserve his impressions of foreign life.* Scarcely more 
 than the bare outline of his route is known. Some two weeks 
 at Paris were followed by eighteen months at Toulouse. Then 
 a tour in the South of France was followed by two months at 
 ^Geneva ; and from Christmas, 1765, to the following October 
 the travellers were in Paris, this latter period being the only 
 one of any general interest, on account of the illustrious 
 acquaintances which the introductions of Hume enabled Adam 
 Smith to make in the French capital. 
 
 During this period Adam Smith became acquainted with 
 the chief men of letters and philosophers of Paris, such as 
 D'Alembert, Ilelvotius, INIarmontel, Morcllet; and it is to be 
 regretted that !Moreliet, who mentions the fact of conversations 
 
 * A ll'w of liis letters are published in Lord Brougham's ^fc'o««^ of 
 Adam SiiiU/i's Lijc and WurLs, i. 27U-SD.
 
 12 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 between himself, Turg-ot, and Adam Smithy on subjects of 
 political economy and on several points connected with the 
 great work then contemplated by the latter, should have 
 given us no clue to the influence Turgot may have had in 
 suggesting or confirming the idea of free trade. That the 
 intercourse between them became intimate may at least be 
 inferred from the unverified story of their subsequent literary 
 correspondence ; and to Quesnai, the economist, it is known 
 that Adam Smith intended, but for the death of the former, 
 to have dedicated his Wealth of Nafions. With IMorellet, too, 
 Adam Smith seems to have been intimate. The abbe records 
 in his Memoirs that he kept for twenty years a pocket-book 
 presented to him as a keepsake by Adam Smith. The latter 
 sent him also a copy of the Wealth of Nations ten years later, 
 wdiich Morellet, with his usual zeal for translating, set to work 
 upon at once. The Abbe Blavet, however, was again the first 
 in the field, so that Morellet could not find a publisher. It is 
 worth noticing that Morellet mentions the fact that Adam 
 Smith spoke French very badly, which is not the least incon- 
 sistent with his biographer's claim for him of an " uncommonly 
 extensive and accurate knowledge" of modern languages. 
 
 The duke and the philosopher, having laid in their cmn- 
 panionship abroad the foundation of a friendship which lasted 
 till the death of the latter, returned to London in October, 
 17G6. The next ten years of his life Adam Smith spent at 
 home with his mother and cousin, preparing the work on 
 which his fame now chiefly rests. It was a period of quiet 
 uneventful study, and almost solitude. Writing to Hume, he 
 says that his chief amusements are long and solitary walks by 
 the sea, and that he never felt more happy, comfortable, or 
 contented, in his life. Hume made vain endeavours to tempt 
 Li m to Edinburgh from his retirement. "I want," he said, 
 "to know what you have been doing, and propose to exact a
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. vj 
 
 rig^oroTis account of the method in which you have eniplo3-eil 
 yourself during" your retreat. I am positive you are wron-^- in 
 many of your speculations^ especially where you have the 
 misfortune to differ from me. All these are reasons for our 
 meeting-." 
 
 This was in 1769. Seven years later, 1776, the WeallJi of 
 Nations appeared, and Hume, who was then dying, again 
 wrote his friend a congratulatory letter. " Eiige ! Belle ! I 
 am much pleased with your performance, and the perusal of it 
 has taken me from a great state of anxiety. It was a work 
 of so much expectation, by yourself, by your friends, and by 
 the public, that I trembled for its appearance ; but am now 
 much relieved. Not but that the reading of it necessarily 
 requires so much attention, that T shall still doubt for some 
 time of its beiug at first ver}' popular. But it has depth and 
 solidity, and acuteness, and is so much illustrated by curious 
 facts, that it must, at last, take the public attention. It is 
 probably much improved by your last abode in London. If 
 you were here, at my fireside, I should dispute some of your 
 principles. . . . But these, and a hundred other points, are fit 
 only to be discussed in conversation. I hope it will be soon, 
 for I am in a very bad state of health, and cannot afford a 
 long delay." 
 
 This letter seems to have led to a meeting between the 
 two friends, the last before the sad final separation. Of the 
 cheerfulness with which Hume met his death, Adam Smith 
 wrote an account in a letter addressed to Strahan, the pub- 
 lisher, and appended to Hume's autobiographv, telling how 
 Hume, in reference to his approaching departure, imagined a 
 conversation between himself and Charon, and how he con- 
 tinued to correct his works for a new edition, to read books of 
 amusement, to converse, or sometimes play at v/hist with his 
 friends. He also extolled Hume's extreme e'cutleness of
 
 14 ADAM SMITH, 
 
 nature, which never weakened the firmness of his mind nor 
 the steadiness of his resohitions; his constant pleasantry and 
 good humour ; his severe apphcation to study, his extensive 
 learning-, his depth of thought. He thought that his temper 
 was more evenly balanced than in any other man he ever 
 knew; and that, however much difference of opinion there 
 might be among men as to his philosophical ideas, according* 
 as they happened or not to coincide with their own, there 
 could scarcely be any concerning his character and conduct. 
 *' Upon the whole," he concluded, " I have always considered 
 him, both in his lifetime and since his death, as approaching 
 as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man as 
 perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit.''^ 
 
 Considering that Hume counted among his friends such 
 churchmen as Robertson the historian, and Blair, author of 
 the Sermons, Adam Smith's confident belief in the uniformity 
 of judgment about his friend's character need not appear un- 
 reasonable ; but, unfortunately, a dignitary of the Church, 
 author of a Commentary on ihe Psalms, and afterwards Bishop 
 of Norwich, chose to consider the letter to Strahan a mani- 
 festo against Christianity, and accordingly published anony- 
 mously a letter to Adam Smith, purporting to be written 
 "by one of the people called Christians." The writer claimed 
 to have in his composition a large proportion of the milk of 
 human kindness ; to be no bigot nor enemy to human learn- 
 ing; and never to have known the meaning of envy or 
 hatred. Strange then that, at the age of forty-six. Dr. Home 
 should have been guilty of a letter, which it would be difficult 
 to match for injustice of inference, or contemptibillty of style, 
 and which he even thought fit to leave to posterity among his 
 other published works. He begins: "You have been lately 
 emploj-ed in embalming a philosopher; his hodij, I believe I 
 must say, for concerning the other part of his nature neither
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 15 
 
 you nor lie seem to have entertained an idea, sleeping or 
 waking. Else it surely might have claimed a little of your 
 care and attention ; and one would think the belief of the 
 soul's existence and immortality could do no harm, if it did 
 no good, in a Theory of Moral Sentimenfs. But every gen- 
 tleman understands his own business best/' 
 
 The letter, pervaded by the same spirit of banter through- 
 out, is too long to quote at length, but the following extracts 
 contain the leading idea : " Are you sure, and can 3'ou make 
 ns sure, that there really exist no such things as God, a future 
 state of rewards and punishments ? If so, all is well. Let 
 us then, in our Inst hours, read Lucian, and play at whist, 
 and droll upon Charon and his boat ; let us die as foolish and 
 insensible, as much like our brother philosophers the calves 
 of the field and the asses of the desert, as we can, for the life 
 
 of us Upon the whole, doctor, your meaning is good; 
 
 but I think 3-ou will not succeed this time. You would per- 
 suade us, by the example of David Hume, Esq., that atheism 
 is the only cordial for low spirits, and the proper antidote 
 jigainst the fear of death." 
 
 It is diflleult to say whether the puerility or the ignorance 
 displayed in this letter is the greater. Either the writer had 
 never read the Theory of Moral Sentiments at all, or he was so 
 little versed in philosophy as to see no difference between 
 Deism and Atheism, two distinct logical contradictories. 
 There is, moreover, not a word in Adam Smith's letter to 
 justify any reference to religious questions at all; and sub- 
 sequent quotations from the Moral Sentiments will abundantly 
 denaonstrate the total fulsity of the churchman's assumptions. 
 Adam Smith treated his letter with the contemptuous silence 
 it so well deserved. The story quoted by Sir Walter Scott, 
 in an article in the Quarterly, that Johnson grossly insulted 
 Adam Smith at a literary meeting in Glasgow, by reason of
 
 i5 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 his dislike for him, as the eulngizer of Hume, is easily shown 
 to rest on no foundation. Hume did not die till lllQ, and it 
 was three years earlier that Johnson visited Glasgow. 
 
 The two years after the publication of his greatest work 
 Adam Smith spent in London, in the midst of that literary 
 society which "vve know so well through the pages of Boswell. 
 Then, at the request of the Duke of Buecleuch, he was made 
 one of the Commissioners of Custom in Scotland, and in this 
 occupation spent the last twelve years of his life, in the midst 
 of a society which must have formed an agreeable contrast to 
 the long years of his retirement and solitude. The light 
 duties of his office ; the pleasures of friendship ; the loss of 
 his mother and cousin, and increasing ill-health, all combined 
 to prevent the completion of any more of his literary projects. 
 A few days before his death he ordered all his manuscripts to 
 be burnt, with the exception of a few essays, which may still 
 be read. They consist of a History of Astronomy, a History 
 of Ancient Physics, a History of Ancient Logic and Meta- 
 physics, an Essay on the Imitative Arts, on certain English 
 and Italian verses, and on the External Senses. The destroyed 
 manuscripts are supjiosed to have comprised the lectures on 
 Rhetoric, read at Edinburgh forty-two years before, and the 
 lectures on Natural Theology and on Jurisprudence, which 
 formed part of his lectures at Glasgow. The additions which 
 he made to the Moral Sentimenh, in the last winter of his life, 
 he lived to see published before his death. 
 
 Of the Theory of Moral Sentiments Sir James I\Tackintosh 
 says : " Perhaps there is no ethical work since Cicero's Offices, 
 of which an abridgment enables the reader so inadequately to 
 estimate the merit, as the Theory of Moral Sentiments. This 
 is not chiefly owing to the beauty of diction, as in the case of 
 Cicero, but to the variet}' of explanations of life and manners 
 which embellish the book more than they illuminate the
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. \y 
 
 theory. Yet, on the other hand, it must be owned that, for 
 philosophieal purposes, few books more need abridgment; for 
 the most careful reader frequently loses sight of principles 
 buried under illustrations. The naturally copious and flowing* 
 style of the author is generally redundant, and the repetition 
 of certain formularies of the system is, in the later editions, 
 60 frequent as to be wearisome, and sometimes ludicrous/^ 
 
 The justice of this criticism has been the guiding principle 
 in the attempt made in the following chapters to give an ac- 
 count of Adam Smith's system of moral philosophy, the aim 
 having been to avoid sacrificing the main theory to the super- 
 abundance of illustration which somewhat obscures it in the 
 original, while at the same time doing justice to the minor 
 subjects treated of, which, though they have little or nothing 
 to do with Adam Smith's leading principles, yet form a dis- 
 tinctive feature in his work, and are in many respects the 
 most interesting part of it; for critics who have rejected 
 the Theory as a whole, have been uniformly loud in their 
 praises of its minor details and illustrations. Brown, fn- 
 inst-ance, who has been the most successful perhaps of all the 
 adverse critics of the Theory, speaks of it as presenting in 
 these respects ''a model of philosophic beauty." Jouffroy, 
 too, allows that the book is one of the most useful in moral 
 science, because Adam Smith, " deceived as he undoubtedly 
 was as to the principle of morality," brought to light and 
 analyzed so many of the facts of human nature. Dugald 
 Stewart and Mackintosh both say much the same thing; so 
 that it is evident no account of Adam Smith's work can be 
 complete which omits from consideration all the collateral 
 inquiries he pursues or all the illustrations he draws, either 
 from history or from his imagination. To preserve, as far as 
 possj! tie, the proportion which these collateral inquiries bear 
 to one another and to the main theory, as well as to retain 
 
 c
 
 1 8 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 what is most characteristic of the orig-inal in point of illus- 
 tration and stylcj having been therefore the end in view, it 
 has been found best to alter the arrangement in some degree, 
 and to divide the whole into chapters, the relations of which 
 to tlie divisions of the original will be best understood by a 
 brief reference to the structure of the latter. 
 
 Adam Smith divides his work into seven Parts, which pre- 
 cede one another in the following order : — 
 
 I. Of the Propriety of Action. 
 
 II. Of Merit and Demerit ; or the objects of Ueward and 
 Punishment. 
 
 III. Of the Foundation of our judgments concerning our 
 own Sentiments and Conduct, and of the Sense of Duty. 
 
 IV. Of the Effect of Utility upon the sentiment of Appro- 
 bation. 
 
 V. Of the influence of Custom and Fashion upon the 
 sentiments of Moral Approbation and Disapprobation. 
 
 VI. Of the character of Virtue. 
 
 VII. Of systems of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 The excellence of this arrangement, however, is consi- 
 derably marred by the division of these Parts into Sections, 
 and by the f, equent further subdivison of the Sections them- 
 selves into Chapters. An instance will illustrate how detri- 
 mental this is to the clearness of the main argument. The 
 first three Parts exhaust the main theory, or that doctrine of 
 Sympathy, which is Adam Smith's own special creation, and on 
 which his rank as amoral philosopher depends; the other four 
 Parts having only to do with it incidentally or by acci- 
 dent. Put in following the first three Parts in which the 
 doctrine of Sympathy is expounded, we come across sections 
 which also are only connected incidentally with the leading 
 argument, and are really branches off the main line. Thus in 
 the Part devoted to the explanation of our ideas of Propriety
 
 niOGRAPIIICAL SKETCH. 19 
 
 in Action there occurs a section on the effect of prosperity or 
 adversity in influencing our judgment; in the Part treating 
 of Merit and Demerit there is a section on the influence of 
 fortune or accideiit on our sentiments of men's merit or tlie 
 contrary; and there is, lastly, a distinct Part (Part V.) 
 allotted to the consideration of the influence of Custom and 
 Fashion on our sentiments of moral approbation or disappro- 
 bation. These subjects are obviously so nearly allied, that they 
 might all have been treated together, apart from the doctrine 
 of sympathy of which they are quite independent; and ac- 
 cordingly in the sequel the dissert itions concerning them in 
 the original are collected into a single chapter, the fifth, on 
 the influence of Prosperity and Adversity, Chance and Custom, 
 on our moral sentiments. 
 
 Consistently with the principles already explained, the order 
 of tiie original has been followed as closely as possible. The 
 second, third, and fourth chapters comprise Parts I. and II. 
 Part v., and the sections relating to the same subject in Parts 
 I. and II., make up the fifth chapter. Then Part III is divided 
 for clearress' sake into two chapters, explaining the author's 
 Theory of Conscience and Theory of floral Principles; and the 
 end of these two chapters, the sixth and seventh, concludes 
 the most important half of Adam Smith's treatise. 
 
 Part VI., on the Character of Virtue, which forms so large 
 a division in the original, and which was only added to the 
 sixth edition, corresponds with chapter IX., under the samo 
 title. Part IV., on the effect of Utility on our moral senti- 
 menrs, forms chapter XII., in which all that is said on the sub- 
 ject in different passages is brought together. Part VII., or 
 Systems of Moral Philosophy, helps in the thirteenth chapter to 
 tinow into clear light the relation of Adam Smith's theory 
 to other theories of moral phili)sophy. The three chapters on 
 the relation of religion to morality, on the theory of ha2:>pi- 
 
 C 2
 
 20 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 iiess, and on final canses in ethics, correspond with no simihir 
 divisions in the original, but are severally collected from 
 different passages in the book, which, scattered through the 
 work, impress upon it a distinctive character, and constitute the 
 chief part of its colouring. The last chapter of all servos to 
 illustrate the historical importance of Adam Smith's work by 
 showing the large part which it fills in the criticisms of sub- 
 sequent writers. 
 
 An accidental coincidence between Adam Smith's theory 
 and a passage in Pol^^bius has unnecessarily been considered 
 the original source of the Theory of Moral Sentiments. The 
 very same passage is referred to by Hume, as showing that 
 Polybius, like many other ancient moralists, traced our ideas 
 of morality to a selfish origin. Yet there is nothing Adam 
 Smith resented more strongly than any identification of his 
 theory with the selfish system of morality. The coincidence 
 is therefore probably accidental ; but the passage is worth 
 quoting, as containing in a few lines the central idea of the 
 doctrine about to be considered. Polybius is speaking of the 
 displeasure felt by people for those who, instead of making 
 suitable returns of gratitude and assistance for their parents, 
 injure them by words or actions ; and he proceeds to say that 
 '• man, who among all the various kinds of animals is alone 
 endowed with the faculty of reason, cannot, like the rest, pass 
 over such actions, but will make reflection on what he sees ; 
 and comparing likewise the future with the present, will not 
 fail to express his indignation at this injurious treatment, to 
 which, as he foresees, he may also at some time be exposed. 
 Thus again, when any one who has been succoured by another 
 in time of danger, instead of showing the like kindness to this 
 benefactor, endeavours at any time to destroy or hurt him ; 
 it is certain that all men must be shocked by such ingra- 
 titude, through sympathy with the resentment of their neigh-
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 21 
 
 hour ; aujd from an apprehension also that the case may be 
 their own. And from hence arises, in the mind of every man, 
 a certain notion of the nature and force of duty, in which con- 
 sists both the beginning- and end of justice. In like manner, tlie 
 man who, in defence of others is seen to throw himself the fore- 
 most into every danger, never fails to obtain the loudest acclama- 
 tions of applause and veneration from the multitude ; while he 
 who shows a different conduct is pursued with censure and 
 reproach. And thus it is that the people begin to discern the 
 nature of things honourable and base, and in what consists 
 the difference between them ; and to perceive that the former, 
 on account of the advantage that attends them, are to be 
 admired and imitated, and the latter to be detested and 
 avoided.''^
 
 7? ADAM SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HISTORICAL INTIIODUCTIUN'. 
 
 To explain the orig-in of our ideas of right and wrong-, and to 
 find for them, if possible, a solid basis of authority, apart 
 from their coincidence with the dogmas of theology, was the 
 problem of moral philosophy which chiefly occupied the specu- 
 hition of the last century, and to which Adam Smith's Thcor// 
 of Moral Seni'nnoifs was one of the most important contri- 
 butions. His theory, like all others, must he undcTstood as 
 an answer to the question : How do we come to regard certain 
 actions or states of mind wilh a])proval and to condemn their 
 contraries, and on what grounds can we justify our judgments 
 in such matters and hold them to accord universally with tlie 
 moral judg-ments of mankind ? 
 
 But in order to undcr.star.d Adam Smith's answer to this 
 question, and his position in the history of thought, it is 
 necessary to refer briefly to the theories of his predecc: Fors 
 down to the time when he took up the thread of the speculation 
 and ofTered his solution of the })roblems they had dealt witli. 
 
 From the time when such problems first hccame popuhir in 
 England, two main currents of thought may be detected run- 
 ning side by side in mutual antagonism to one another ; and 
 whilst according to the teaching of the one school the uhi- 
 mate standard of morality was the interest of the individual 
 himself or the community he Ijclonged to, the aim of the ojipo- 
 site school w^as to find some basis i'or morality whiLh sh(jiild
 
 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 make it less dependent on chang-es of circumstance and ^\\c to 
 its maxims the authority of propositions that should hold true 
 of all times and places. 
 
 Tiie names of Locke, Hobbes, INIandeville, and Hume, are 
 associated with the former school; those of Clarke, Price, 
 Lord Shaftesbury, Bishop Butler, and Hutcheson, with the 
 latter ; and the difference between them is generally ex- 
 pressed by classing the former together as the Utilitarian, 
 Sclfihh, or Sceptical School^ and the latter as the school of 
 Intuitionalists. 
 
 The doctrine of Hobbes, that morality was identical with 
 the positive commands and prohibitions of the lawgiver, and 
 that the law was thus the real ultimate source and standard 
 of all right and wrong, gave rise to several systems which 
 sought in diflPerent ways to find for our moral sentiments a 
 less variable and unstable foundation than was implied l)y 
 sueh an hypothesis. It was in opposition to such a theory th;it 
 Clarke and Price, and other advocates of the so-called Rational 
 or Intellectual system, attributed our perception of moral dis- 
 tinctions to intuitions of our intellect, so that the truths of 
 morality might appear, like those of mathematics, eternal and 
 immutable, independent of peculiarities of time and place, and 
 with an existence apart from any particular man or country, 
 just as the definitions of geometry are independent of any 
 particular straight lines or triangles. To deny, for example, 
 that a man should do for otliers what he would wish done for 
 himself was, according to Clarke, equivalent to a contention 
 that, though two and three are equal to five, yet five is not 
 equal to two and three. 
 
 But the same foundation for an immutable morality that 
 Clarke sought for in the human intellect, others sought for in 
 a jieculiar instinct of our nature. Thus Lord Shaftesbury 
 pobtuluted the existence of a moral sense, sufficient of itself to
 
 24 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 make us eschew vice and follow after virtue ; aud tliis moial 
 sensCj or primitive instinct for good^ was implanted in us by 
 nature, and carried its own authority with it. It judged of 
 actions by reference to a certain harmony between our affec- 
 tions, and this harmony had a real existence, independent of 
 all fashion and caprice, like harmony in music. As symmetry 
 and proportion were founded in nature, howsoever barbarous 
 might be men^s tastes in the arts, so, in morals, an equally 
 real harmony always presented a fixed standard for our 
 guidance. 
 
 This idea of a Moral Sense as the source and standard of 
 our moral sentiments was so far developed by Hutclieson, that 
 the Moral Sense theory of ethics had been more generally 
 connected with his name than with that of its real originator, 
 lluteheson argued that as we have external senses which per- 
 ceive sounds and colours, so we have internal senses which per- 
 ceive moral excellence and the contrary. This moral sense had 
 its analogues i-n our sense of beauty and harmon}^, our sympa- 
 thetic sense, our sense of honour, of decency, and so forth. It 
 was a primitive faculty of our nature, a factor incapable of 
 resolution into simpler elements. It could not, for instance, 
 be resolved into a perception of utility, for bad actions were 
 often as useful as good ones and yet failed to meet with appro- 
 bation, nor could it be explained as a mode of sympathy, for 
 we might morally approve even of the virtues which our 
 enemies manifested. 
 
 Bishop Butler, like his contemporaiy, Hutcheson, also 
 followed Lord Shaftesbury in seeking in our natural instincts 
 the origin of our moral ideas, Conscience with him taking the 
 place of the Moral Sense, from its being possessed, as he 
 thought, of a more authoritative character. Conscience, ac- 
 cording to Butler, was a faculty natural to man, in virtue 
 of which he was a moral agent; a faculty or principle of
 
 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 the human hearty in kind and nature supreme over all others, 
 and bearing- its own authority i'or being- so. Using language 
 about it, whieli we meet again in the Theory of Adam Smith, 
 he spoke of it as " God's viceroy," " the voice of God within 
 us," "the guide assigned to us by the Author of our nature." 
 The obligation to obey it therefore rested in the fact of its 
 being the law of our nature. It could no more be doubted 
 that shame was given us to prevent our doing wrong than that 
 our eyes were given us to see with. 
 
 It WdS at this point that Adam Smith offered his solution of 
 the difficulty. For call it Conscience, Moral Sense, or what 
 you will, such expressions are evidently only re-statements of 
 the problem to be explained. To call the f/act of moral appro- 
 bation by such terms was simply to give it other names; and 
 to say that our conscience or moral sense admitted of no 
 analysis was equivalent to saying that our moral sentiments 
 admitted of no explanation. Adam Smith's theory must 
 therefore be understood as an attempt to explain what the 
 Intuitionalist school really gave up as inexplicable ; and it 
 represents the reaction against that a priori method which 
 they had employed in dealing with moral problems. In that 
 reaction, and in his appeal to the facts of experience, Adam 
 Smith followed the lead of both Hartley and Hume. Ten 
 years before him, the former, in his Observations on Man, had 
 sought to explain the existence of the moral sense, by tracing 
 it back to its lowest terms in the pleasures and pains of simple 
 sensation, and marking its growth in the gradual association 
 of our ideas. And Hume, a few years later, sought to discover 
 " the universal principle from which all censure or approba- 
 tion was ultimately derived" b}^ the experimental method of 
 inquiry ; by comparing, that is, a number of instances of 
 qualities held estimable on the one hand and qtialities held 
 blaraeable on the other, and observing what was the commoa
 
 26 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 element of each. From such an inquiry he inferred that those 
 acts were g-ood which were useful and those bad which were 
 injurious, and that the fact of their being" useful or injurious 
 was the cause of their g-oodness or badness. 
 
 Thus it will be seen that the question of chief interest in 
 Adam Smith's time was widely different from that which had 
 divided the schools of antiquity. The aim or chief good of 
 life which chiefly occupied them had receded into the back- 
 ground ; and the controversy concerned, as Hume declared, 
 " the general foundation of morals/' whether they were de- 
 rived from Reason or from Sentiment, whether they were 
 arrived at by a chain of argument and process of reasoning' or 
 by a certain immediate feeling and internal sense. 
 
 But round this central question of the origin of our feelings 
 of moral approbation other questions of considerable interest 
 were necessarily grouped. There was the question of the 
 authority and sanction of our moral sentiments, independently 
 of their origin ; and there was the question of the ultimate 
 standard or test of moral actions. And these questions in- 
 volved yet others, as for example : What was the relation of 
 morality to religion ? How far did they necessarily coincide, 
 and how far were they independent of each other ? Was 
 human nature really corrupt, and to what degree were the 
 ordinary sanctions of this life a sufficient safeguard for the 
 existence of morality ? Did happiness or misery, good or evil, 
 really predominate in the world; and was there such a thing 
 as disinterested benevolence, or might all virtue be resolved 
 into self-love and be really only vice under cloak and con- 
 cealment? 
 
 '^fhe latter alternative had been the thesis which Mandeville 
 had partly made and partly found popular. In his view the 
 most virtuous actions might be resolved into selfishness, and 
 self-love was the starting-point of all morality. This became
 
 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 therefore, one of the favourite topics of sjiecuUition ; hut it is 
 only necessary to notice Hume's treatment of it, inasmuch as 
 it supplies the first principle of Adam Smith's theory. Ihnne 
 assumed the existence of a disinterested principle underlyiii}^ 
 all our moral sentiments. He arg-ued that " a natural ])riii- 
 ciple of benevolence,'^ impelling us to consider the interests of 
 others, was an essential part of human nature. ''The very 
 aspect/' he said, "of happiness, joy, prosperity, gives plea- 
 sure; that of pain, suffering, sorrow communicates uneasiness." 
 And this fellow-feeling with others he had relused to I'esolve 
 into any more genei'al principle, or to treat as other than an 
 original princijjle of human nature. 
 
 This phenomenon of Sympathy, or fellow-feeling, which we 
 have by nature with any passion whatever of another })erson, 
 is made by Adam Smith the cardinal point and distinctive 
 feature of his theory of the origin of moral approbation ; and 
 the first sentence of his treatise contains therefore not only 
 his answer — one of flat contradiction — to Mandeviile, but the 
 key-note to the whole spirit of his philosojihy. " How selfish 
 soever,'^ he begins, "man maybe supposed, there are evi- 
 dently some principles in his nature which interest him in the 
 fortune of others, and render their hapj)iness necessary to him, 
 though he derives nothing from it, ixcept the ]>l('asuie of 
 seeing it.'" So that pity or compnssion, which Hol)bes had 
 explained as the consciousness of a ]iossible misfortune to our- 
 selves similar to that seen to la-full another, is, with Adam 
 Smith, a primary, not a secondary, emotion of our nature, an 
 original and not a derivative passion, and one tliat is purely 
 disinterested in its manifestation. 
 
 In the next cha])ter and the four succeeding ones we shall 
 observe how on this basis of an origiiuil instinct of sympathy 
 Adam Smith constructs his explanation of the origin of our 
 moral ideas. AVith regard to the explanations already offered
 
 2S ADAAf SMITH. 
 
 by previous writers^ he believed that they all contained some 
 portion of the truth from the particular point of view taken 
 by each j and in the explanation which he himself elaborated, 
 he thoug-ht that some part or otlier of his system embraced 
 and coincided with whatever was true in the different theories 
 of his predecessors.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE PIIEN'O.MEXA OF SYMPATHY. 
 
 The phenomena of sympathy or fellow-feeling- show, accord- 
 ing to Adam Smith, that it is one of the original passions of 
 human nature. We see it in the immediate transfusion of an 
 emotion from one man to another, which is antecedent to any 
 knowledge on our part of the causes of another man's grief or 
 joy. It is a primary factor of our constitution as human 
 being's, as is shown in the instinctive withdrawal of our limbs 
 from the stroke we see aimed at another. It is indeed some- 
 thing almost physical, as we see in the tendency of a mob to 
 twist Iheir bodies simultaneously with the movements of a 
 rope-dancer, or in the tendency of some people on beholding 
 sore eyes to feel a soreness in their own. 
 
 Sympathy originates in the imagination, which alone can 
 make us enter into the sensations of others. Our own senses, 
 for instance, can never tell us anything of the sufferings of a 
 man on the rack. It is only by imagining ourselves in his 
 position, by changing places with him in fancy, by thinking 
 what our ov/n sensations would be in the same plight, that 
 we come to feel what he endures, and to shudder at the mere 
 thought of the agonies he feels. But an analogous emotion 
 springs up, whatever may be the nature of the passion, in the 
 person principally affected by it ; and whether it be joy or 
 grief, gratitude or resentment, that another feels, we equally 
 enter as it were into his body , and in some degree become
 
 30 ADAM r.MITH. 
 
 the same person with him. The emotion of a spectator 
 always corresponds to what, by brino'iiig' tlie case of another 
 home to himself, he imagines should be that other's senti- 
 ments. 
 
 But although sympathy is thus an instantaneous emotion, 
 and the expression of grief or joy in the looks or gestures of 
 another affect us with some degree of a similar emotion, from 
 their suggestion of a general idea of his bad or good fortune, 
 there are some passions with whose expression no sjmpathy 
 arises till their exciting cause is known. Such a passion is 
 anger, for instance. When we witness the signs of anger in a 
 man we more readily sympathize with the fear or resentment 
 of those endangered by it than with the provoked man him- 
 self. The general idea of provocation excites no sympathy 
 with his anger, for we cannot make his passion our own till 
 we know the cause of his provocation. Even our sympathy 
 with joy or grief is very imperfect, till we know the cause of 
 it : in fact, sympathy arises not so much from the view of any 
 passion as from that of the situation which excites it. Hence 
 it is that we often feel for another what he cannot feel him- 
 self, that passion arising in our own breast from the mere 
 imagination which even the reality fails to arouse in his. 
 We sometimes, for instance, blush for the rudeness of another 
 who is insensible of any fault himself, because we feel how 
 ashamed we should have felt had his conduct and situation 
 been ours. Our sorrow, again, for an idiot is no reflection of 
 any sentiment of his, who laughs and sings, and is unconscious 
 of his misery; nor is our sympathy with the dead due to any 
 other consideration than the conception of ourselves as 
 deprived of all the blessings of life and yet conscious of our 
 deprivation. To the change produced upon them we join our 
 own consciousness of that change, our own sense of the loss of 
 the sunlight, of human affections, and human memory, and
 
 THE PHENOMENA OF SYMPATHY. 31 
 
 then sympathize witli their situation by so vividly imagining 
 it our own. 
 
 But whatever may be the cause of sjmpathy, there is do 
 doubt of the pleasure which the consciousness of a concord of 
 feeling- produces^ and of the pain which arises from a sense of 
 its absence. Some have accounted for this by the principle 
 of self-love, by saying- that the consciousness of our own 
 weakness and our need of the assistance of others makes us to 
 rejoice in their sympathy as an earnest of their assistance, and 
 to grieve in their indifference as a sign of their opposition. 
 But both the pleasure and pain are felt so instantaneously, and 
 upon such frivolous occasions, that it is impossible to explain 
 them as a refinement of self-love. For instance, we are mor- 
 tified if nobody laughs at our jests, and are pleased if they do; 
 not from any consideration of self-interest, but from an instinc- 
 tive need and longing after sympathy. 
 
 Neither can the fact, that the correspondence of the senti- 
 ments of others with our own is a cause of pleasure, and the 
 want of it a cause of pain, be accounted for entirely by the 
 additional zest which the joy of others communicates to our 
 own, or by the disappointment which the absence of it causes. 
 The sympath}' of others with our own joy may, indeed, enliven 
 that j"y, and so give us pleasure; but their sympathy with 
 our grief could give us no pleasure, if it simply enlivened our 
 grief. S3'mpatln', however, whilst it enlivens joy, alleviates 
 grief, and so gives pleasure in either case, by the mere fact of 
 the coincidence of mutual feeling. 
 
 The sympathy of others being more necessary for us in grief 
 thnn in jo}', we are more desirous to communicate to otiiers 
 our disagreeable passions than our agreeable ones. " The 
 agreeable passions of love and joy can satisfy and support the 
 heart without any auxiliary pleasure- The bitter and painful 
 emotions of grief and resentment more strongly require the
 
 32 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 healiiig- consolation of c?ympathy.'^ Ilenee we are less anxious 
 that our friends should adopt our friendships than that they 
 should enter into our resentments, and it makes us much more 
 angry if they do not enter into our resentments than if they 
 do not enter into our gratitude. 
 
 But sympathy is pleasurable^ and the absence of it dis- 
 tressing, not only to the person sympathized with, but to the 
 person sympathizing. We are ourselves pleased if we can 
 sympathize with another's success or afRiction, and it pains 
 us if we cannot. The conciousness of an inalnlity to sym- 
 pathize with his distress, if we think his grief excessive, gives 
 us even more pain than the sympathetic sorrow which the most 
 complete accordance with him could make us feel. 
 
 Such are the physical and instinctive facts of sympath}^ 
 upon which Adam Smith founds his theory of the origin of 
 moral approbation and our moral ideas. Before proceeding 
 with this development of his theory, it is worth noticing again 
 its close correspondence with that of Hume, who likewise 
 traced moral sentiments to a basis of physical sympathy-. 
 " Wherever we go,'^ says Plume, " whatever we reflect on or 
 converse about, everything still presents us with the view of 
 human happiness or misery, and excites in our breast a sym- 
 pathetic movement of pleasure or uneasiness.'' Censure or 
 applause are, then, the result of the influence of sympathy upon 
 our sentiments. If the natural effects of misery, such as tears 
 and cries and groans, never fail to inspire us with compassion 
 and uneasiness, "can we be supposed altogether insensible or 
 indifferent towards its causes, when a malicious or treacherous 
 character and behaviour arc presented to us ? "
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MORAL APPROBATTOX, AND THE FEELING OP PROPRIETY. 
 
 Having analyzed the facts of sympathy, and shown that the 
 correspondence of the sentiments of others with our own is a 
 direct cause of pleasure to us, and the want of it a cause of 
 pain, Adam Smith proceeds to show that the amount of 
 pleasure or pain felt by one man in the conduct or feelings of 
 another is the measure of his apprv)bation or the contrary. 
 The sentiments of any one are just and proper, or the reverse, 
 according- as they coincide or not with the sentiments of some 
 onecljc who observes them. Ilis ajiprobation varies with the 
 degree in which he can sympathize with them, and perfect 
 concord of sentiment means perfect approbation. 
 
 Just as a man who admires the same poem or picture 
 that I do, or laughs at the same joke, allows the justice of 
 my admiration or mirth, so he, who enters into my resent- 
 ment, and by bringing my injuries home to himself shares 
 my feelings, cannot but thereby approve of them as just 
 and proper. According as his sympathetic indignation fails 
 to correspond to mine, according as his compassion falls 
 short of my grief, according, in short, to the degree of dis- 
 proportion he may perceive between my sentiments and his, 
 does he feel stronger or weaker disapproval of my feelings. 
 
 Moral approbation admits of the same explanation as intellec- 
 jual approbation. For just as to approve or disapprove of the 
 )pinionsof others is nothing more than to observe their agree- 
 aent or disagreement with our own, so to approve or disap- 
 
 D
 
 34 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 prove of their feelings and passions is simply to mark a similar 
 agreement or disagreement existing between our own and theirs. 
 Consequently the sentiments of each individual are the 
 standard and measure of the correctness of another's, and it is 
 hardly possible for us to judge of another's feelings by any 
 other canon than the correspondent atfection in ourselves. 
 The only measure by which one man can judge of the faculty 
 of another is by his own faculty of the like kind. As we 
 judge of another's ej^esight^ hearing, or reason, by comparison 
 with our own eyesight, hearing, or reason, so we can only 
 judge of another's love or resentment by our own love or our 
 own resentment. If, upon bringing the case of another home 
 to ourselves, we find that the sentiments which it produces 
 in him coincide and tally with our own, w'e necessarily ap- 
 prove of his as proportioned and suitable to their objects, 
 while if otherwise, we necessarily disapprove of them as 
 extravagant and out of proportion. 
 
 Since, then, one point of view in every moral judgment is 
 the "suitableness'' which any affection of the heart bears to 
 the cause or object wdiich excites it, the propriety or impro- 
 ])riety of the action, which results from such affection, depends 
 entirely on the concord or dissonance of the affection with 
 that felt sympathetically by a spectator. Hence that part of 
 moral approbation which consists in the sense of the Pro- 
 priety of a sentiment to its cause (say, of anger to its provo- 
 cation), arises simply from the perception of a coincidence 
 betv\-eon the sentiment of the person primarily aflected by it 
 and that of the spectator who, by force of imagination, i)uts 
 himself in the other's place. 
 
 Let us take, for instance, as ix, concrete case, the exhibition 
 of fortitude under great distress. AVhat is the source of our 
 approbation of it ? It is the ])erfcct coincidence of another's 
 firmness witli our own insensibility to his misfortunes. i3y
 
 PROPRIETY OF MORAL SENTIMFNTS. 35 
 
 his malciiig' no domand on us for that higher degree of sensi- 
 bility which we find to our regret that we do not possess, he 
 effects a most perfect correspondence between his sentiments 
 and oui's, which causes us to recognize the perfect propriety 
 of his conduct. The additional element which raises our 
 feeling of mere approbation into one of admiration, is the 
 wonder and surprise we feel at witnessing a degree of self- 
 command far above that usually met with among mankind. 
 
 There are, however, several facts which modify our sense of 
 the propriety or impropriety of another person's sentiments 
 by their concord or disagreement with our own, and which it 
 is important to notice. 
 
 First of all, it is only when the objects which excite any 
 sentiment bear some direct relation to the person primarilv 
 alfected by the sentiment or to ourselves as sympathetically 
 affected by it, that any moral judgment of his sentiment arises 
 on our part. For instance, " the beauty of a plain, the great- 
 ness of a mountain, the ornaments of a building, the expres- 
 sion of a picture, the composition of a discourse, the conduct 
 of a third person ... all the general subjects of science and 
 taste, are what we and our companions regard as having no 
 peculiar relation to either of us.^' There is no occasion for 
 sympath}^ or for an imaginary change of situations, iii order 
 to produce, with regard to such things, the most perfect har- 
 mony of sentiments and affect'ons. Where there is such 
 harmou}^, we ascribe to a man good taste or judgment, but 
 recognize no degree of moral propriety. 
 
 But it is otherwise with anything which more closely affects 
 us. A misfortune or injury to another is not regarded by him 
 and b)^ us from the same point of view as a poeii or picture 
 are, for the former cannot but more closely affect him. 
 Hence a correspondence of feeling is much more difficult and 
 much more important with regard to matters which nearly 
 
 D 2
 
 36 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 concern himj than with regard to matters which concern neither 
 liim nor us, and are really indifferent to our actual interests. 
 "VVe can easily bear with difference of opinion in matters of 
 speculation or taste; but we cease to be bearable to one 
 another, if he has no fellow-feeling for my misfortunes or 
 my griefs; or if he feels either no indignation at my injuries 
 or none that bears any proportion to my resentment of them. 
 
 This correspondence of feeling, then, being at the same time 
 so difficult of attainment and yet so pleasurable when at- 
 tained, two operations come into play : the effort on our part, 
 as spectators, to enter into the sentiments and passions of the 
 person principally concerned, and the effort on his part also to 
 bring his sentiments into unison with ours. Whilst we strive 
 to assume, in imagination, his situation, he strives to assume 
 ours, and to bring down his emotions to that degree with 
 which we as spectators can sympathize. Conscious as he is that 
 our sympathy must naturally fall short of the violence of his 
 own, and longing as he does for that relief which he can only 
 derive from a complete sympathy of feeling, he seeks to obtain 
 a more entire concord by lowering his passion to that 
 pitch which he is sensible that we can assume. Does he feel 
 resentment or jealousy, he will strive to tone it down to the 
 point at which we can enter into it. And by thus being 
 led to imagine how he himself would be affected, were he only 
 a spectator of his own situation, he is brought to abate the 
 violence of his original passion. So that in a sort of meeting- 
 point of sympathy lies the point of perfect propriety, as has 
 been shown in the case of the propriety of fortitude. 
 
 On this twofold tendency of our moral nature two different 
 s.^ts of virtues are based. On our effort to sympathize with 
 the passions and feelings of others are founded the gentler 
 virtues of condescension, toleration, and humanity ; whilst the 
 sterner virtues of self-denial and self-command are founded on
 
 PROPRIETY AND VIRTUE. 37 
 
 our effort to attune our passions to that pitch of which others 
 can approve. In a union of these two kinds of virtues — in feel- 
 ing much for others and little for ourselves, in restraining- our 
 selfish and indulging our benevolent affections — consists the 
 highest perfection of which human nature is capable. 
 
 Eut how do we pass from a perception of the propriety of 
 these good qualities to a perception of their virtue, for pro- 
 priety and virtue mean different things ? The answer is, that 
 propriety of sentiment which^ when displayed in the usual 
 degree, meets with our approbation merely, calls for our admi- 
 ration and becomes virtuous when it surprises us by an unusual 
 manifestation of it. Admiration is '^ approbation, heightened 
 by wonder and surprise. '^ " Virtue is excellence, something 
 uncommonly great and beautiful, which rises far above what 
 is vulgar and ordinary." There is no virtue in the ordinary 
 display of the moral qualities, just as in the ordinary degree of 
 the intellectual qualities there are no abilities. For sensibility 
 to be accounted humanity it must exceed what is possessed bj- 
 the "rude vulgar of mankind;" and, in like manner, for self- 
 command to amount to the virtue of fortitude, it must be 
 much more than the weakest of mortals is capable of 
 exerting. 
 
 There are, in fact, two different standards by which we often 
 measure the degree of praise or blame due to any action, one 
 consisting in the idea of complete propriety or perfection, in 
 comparison with which all human action must ever annear 
 blameable, and the other consisting in that approach to such 
 perfection of which the majority of men are capable. Just 
 in the same way as a work of art may appear very beautiful 
 when judged by the standard of ordinary perfection, and 
 appear full of faults when judged by the standard of absolute 
 perfection, so a moral action or sentiment may frequently 
 deserve applause that falls short of an ideal virtue.
 
 38 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 It having' thus been shown that the propriety of any seiiti- 
 ment lies in a meeting'-point between two different sympathies, 
 or in a sort of compromise between two diff'erent aspects of the 
 same passion, it is evident that such propriety must lie in a 
 certain mediocrity or mean state betweentwo extremes, orinjust 
 that amount of pass-ion into which an impartial spectator can 
 enter. Thatgrief or resentment, for example, is proper which 
 errs neither on the side of excess or of defect, which is neither 
 too much nor too little. The impartial spectator, being unaljle 
 either to enter into an excess of resentment or to sympathize 
 with its deficiency, blames the one extreme by calling it " fury,'^ 
 and the other by calling it " want of spirit.'^ 
 
 On this point it is noticeable that Adam Smithes theory of 
 Propriety agrees, as he says himself, ''pretty exactly^' with 
 Aristotle's definition of Virtue, as consisting in a mean or 
 MeaoTTj^; between two extremes of excess or defect. For in- 
 stance, courage, according to Aristotle, lies in the mean state 
 between the opposite vices of cowardice and rashness. Fruga- 
 lity is a similar avoidance of both avarice and prodigalitj^, and 
 magnanimity consists in avoiding the extremes of either arro- 
 gance or pusillanimity. And as also coincident in every respect 
 with his own theory of Propriety, Adam Smith claims Plato's 
 account of virtue given in the Republic, where it is shown to 
 consist in that state of mind in which every faculty confines 
 itself to its proper sphere without encroaching" on that of any 
 other, and performs its proper office with exactly that degree 
 of strength which by nature belongs to it. 
 
 But it is obvious that the mean state or point of propriety 
 must be different in different passions, lying nearer to the 
 excess in some and nearer to the defect in others. And it will 
 be found that the decency or indecency of giving expression to 
 our passions varies exactly in proportion to the general dispo- 
 sition of mankind to sympathize with them.
 
 FIVE CLASSES OF FASSIONS. 39 
 
 To illustrate the application of this principle, Adam Smith 
 divides all human passions into five different classes. These 
 are the Passions which take their origin from the body, those 
 which take their orig-in from a particular turn of the imagina- 
 tion, the unsocial Passions, the social Passions, and the selfish 
 Passions. And whatever doubts may be felt as to the truth of 
 Adam Smithes general theory of the origin of moral appro- 
 bation, there is no doubt of the interest which attaches to his 
 account of the influence of our sympathies in conditioning the 
 nature of our moral sentiments. 
 
 1. To begin v/ith the passions which have their ov\^\x\fro7n 
 the body. The bodily passions, such as hunger and thirst, 
 being purely personal, fail to excite any general sympatliy, 
 and in proportion to the impossibility of such sj'mpathy is the 
 impropriety or indecency of any strong expression of them. 
 The real origin of our dislike to such passions when we witness 
 them in others, the real reason why any strong expressions of 
 them are so disagreeable, is not the fact that such passions 
 are those which we share in common with the brutes (for we 
 also share with them natural affection and gratitude), but 
 simply the fact that we cannot enter into them, that they are 
 insufficient to command our sympathies. 
 
 With the passions which arise from the imagination \t is 
 otherwise than with passions which originate from the body. 
 For instance, a disappointment in love or ambition calls forth 
 more sympathy than the greatest bodily evil, for our imagina- 
 tion lends itself more readily to sympathize with the misfor- 
 tunes affecting the imaginations of others, than is possible 
 in the case of the sufferings of their bodies. Our imagi- 
 nation moulds itself more easily upon the imagination of 
 another than our bodily frame can be affected by what affects his. 
 Thus we can readily sympathize with a man who has lost his 
 fortune, for he only suffers in his imagination, not in his body ;
 
 40 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 jind we can fancy, just as he does, the loss of dig-nit}^, the 
 neglect of his friends, the contempt from his enemies, the 
 dependence, want, and misery which he himself foresees in 
 store for him. The loss of a leg- is a more real calamity than 
 the loss of a mistress; but whilst it would be ridiculous to 
 found a tragedy on the former loss, the latter misfortune has 
 ^¥en rise to many a fine play. Mere pain never calls forth 
 any lively sympathy, and for that reason there were no greater 
 breaches of decorum committed in the plays of the Greeks, 
 than in the attempt to excite compassion by the representation 
 of physical agonies, as in the cries of Philoctetes,' or the tor- 
 tures of Hippoiytus and Hercules. It is on this little sym- 
 pathy which we feel with bodily pain that is founded the 
 propriety of constancy and patience in its endurance. 
 
 2. Where, however, a passion takes its origin/row? a paril- 
 cidar turn cyf ilie hvaginailon, the imagination of others, not 
 having acquired that particular turn, cannot S3n'!pathize with 
 the passion, and so finds it in some measure ridiculous. This 
 is particularly the case with the passion of love. We may 
 sympathize with our friend^s resentment, if he has been in- 
 jured, or enter into his gratitude, if he has received a benefit; 
 but if he is in love, however reasonable we may think it, " the 
 passion appears to everybody, but the man who feels it, entirely 
 disproportioned to the value of the object; and love, though 
 it is pardoned in a certain age, because we know it is natural, 
 is always laughed at because we cannot enter into it. All 
 serious and strong expressions of it appear ridiculous to a third 
 person ; and though a lover may be good company to his mis- 
 tress, he is so to nobody else. lie himself is sensible of this ; and, 
 as long as he continues in his sober senses, endeavours to treat 
 his own passion with raillery and ridicule. It is the only style 
 ' Lessing, in bis Laocoon, iv. 3, criticizes Adam Smith's remarks on 
 this subject.
 
 THE UNSOCIAL PASSIONS. 41 
 
 in which we care to hear of it, because it is the only style in 
 which we ourselves are disposed to talk of it." 
 
 Our philosopher however admits, that though we cannot 
 properly enter into the attachment of the lover, we readily 
 sympathize with his expectations of happiness, Thoug-h his 
 passion cannot interest us, his situation of mingled hope and 
 fear interests us, just as in the description of a sea voyage it 
 is not the hunger of the crew which interests us hut the dis- 
 tress which it occasions them. When love is interesting on 
 the stage, it is so simply from the distress it occasions. A 
 scene of two lovers, in perfect security, expressing their 
 mutual fondness for one another, would excite laughter and 
 not sympathy. Such a scene is never endured but from con- 
 cern for the dangei's and difficulties foreseen in the sequel, or 
 from interest in the secondary passions — fear, shamCj and 
 despair — which are associated with love as a situation, and 
 with w^hich alone we can really sympathize. 
 
 3. In the third place come the unsocial passions, such as 
 hatred and resentment, with all their modifications. They 
 also are founded on the imagination, but have to be consider- 
 ably modified before they touch that point of propriety with 
 which an impartial spectator can sympathize. For these 
 passions give rise to a double sympathy, or rather divide our 
 sympathy between the person who feels them and the person 
 who is the object of them. Though we may sympathize with 
 him who has received a provocation, we also sympathize with 
 his adversary, if he becomes the object of undue resentment. 
 We enter into the situation of both, and the fear we fed 
 with the one moderates the resentment we feel with the other. 
 Hence for resentment to attain the mean of propriety, it must 
 be more reduced from its natural degree than almost any 
 other passion; and the greater restraint a man puts on his 
 anger, the more will mankind, who have a very strong sense
 
 d2 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 of the injuries done to another, enter into and bear with his 
 resentment. 
 
 These unsocial passions are, however; necessary parts of 
 human nature, and as on the one hand we cannot sympathize 
 with excessive indig-nation, so on the other hand we blame 
 and despise a man " who tamely sits still and submits to 
 insults/^ from our inability to comprehend his insensibility 
 and want of spirit. These passions are therefore useful to the 
 individual, as serving- to protect him from insult and injury ; 
 but there is still something- disagreeable in them which makes 
 their appearance in others the natural object of our aversion. 
 It is so even when they are most justly provoked. Hence 
 they are the only passions, the mere expression of which does 
 not command our sympathies till we know the cause. The 
 voice of misery, or the sight of gladness, at once communi- 
 cates to us corresponding sentiments ; but the tones of hatred 
 or resentment inspire us naturally with fear and aversion. 
 For that reason the music, which imitates such passions, is not 
 the most agreeable, its periods being, unlike those which 
 express joy or grief or love, "irregular, sometimes very short, 
 sometimes very long, and distinguished by no regular 
 pauses." 
 
 For all these reasons it is very difficult to adjust resentment 
 to the point of propriety demanded by the sympathy of 
 others. The provocation must be such that we should incur 
 contempt for not resenting it ; and smaller offences are better 
 neglected. We should resent more from a sense that mankind 
 expect it of us than from the impulse of the passion itself. 
 There is no passion concerning whose indulgence we should 
 more carefully consider the sentiments of the cool and impar- 
 tial spectator. Magnanimity, or a regard to maintain our 
 own rank and dignity, can alone ennoble its expression ; and 
 we should shoWj from our whole manner, that passion has not
 
 iHE SOCIAL AND SELFISH PASSIONS. aI 
 
 extinguished our humanity, and that; if we yield to revenge, 
 we do so with reluctance and from necessity. 
 
 4. With regard to the social passions, such as generosity, 
 humanity, kindness, compassion, or friendship, the facts are 
 quite dilferent. Not only is the mere expression of these 
 sentiments agreeable, but they are made doubly agreeable by 
 a division of the spectator's sympathies between the person 
 who feels them and the person who is the object of them. 
 We enter with pleasure into the satisfaction of both, into the 
 agreeable emotions of the man who is generous or compas- 
 sionate, and into the agreeable emotions of the man who 
 receives the benefit of his generosity or compassion. 
 
 Hence in these passions the point of propriety lies nearer 
 to the excess than to the defect, just as in the opposite 
 passions it lay nearer to the defect. " There is something 
 agreeable even in the weakness of friendship and humanity/' 
 and if we blame the too tender mother, the too indulgent 
 father, or the too generous friend, it is always with sympathy 
 and kindness, and with no feeling of hatred or aversion. 
 
 5. Between the social and the unsocial passions the selfish 
 passions occupy a middle place. These are joy and grief for 
 our own personal good or bad fortune. Since no opposite 
 sympathy can ever interest the sjectator against them, their 
 excessive expression is never so disagreeable as excessive 
 resentment ; and for the reason that no double sympathy can 
 ever interest us for them, they are never so agreeable as 
 proper humanity and benevolence. 
 
 We are, Adam Smith thinks, naturally disposed to sympa- 
 thize more with our neighbours' small joys than with their 
 great ones, and more with their great sorrows than with their 
 small ones. A man raised suddenly to a much higher position 
 may be sure that the congratulations of his best friends are 
 not perfectly sincere. If he has any judgment, he is sensible
 
 4.^ ADAM SMITH. 
 
 of this, anrlj instead of appearing- elated, endeavours to smother 
 his joy, and keep down his elevation of mind. He affects the 
 same plainness of dress, and the same modesty of behaviour, 
 which became him before, and redoubles his attentions to his 
 former friends. So his conduct may meet with our approval, 
 for ''we expect, it seems, that he should have more sympathy 
 with our envy and aversion to his happiness than we have 
 with his happiness,^' 
 
 "With the smaller joys of life it is different. The ability of 
 the spectators to sympathize with these places the point of 
 propriety in their indulgence much higher. We readily 
 sympathize with habitual cheerfulness, which spreads itself, 
 as it were, by infection. Hence it is hardly possible to 
 express too much satisfaction in the little occurrences of 
 common life, in the company of yesterday evening-, in the 
 entertainment g-enerally, in what was said or done, " and in 
 all those frivolous nothing's which fill up the void of human 
 life." 
 
 It is otherwise with grief, for while small vexations excite 
 no sympathy, deep affliction calls for the greatest. A man 
 will meet with little sympathy, who is hurt if his cook or 
 butler have failed in the least article of their duty ; who is 
 vexed if his brother hummed a tune all the time he was telling 
 a story; who is put out of humour by the badness of the 
 weather when in the country, by the badness of the roads when 
 upon a journey, or by want of company and dulness when in 
 town. Grief is painful to ourselves or to others, and we should 
 endeavour either not to conceive it at all about trifles, or to 
 shake it off if we do. There is a certain " malice in mankind 
 which not only prevents all sympathy with little uneasinesses, 
 but renders them in some measure diverting." 
 
 But though we all take delight in raillery, and in the small 
 vexations which occur to our companions, our sympathy with
 
 5 YMPA THY FOR DIS TRESS. 45 
 
 them in case of deep distress is very strong' and very sincere. 
 " If you labour under any signal calamity; if by some extra- 
 ordinary misfortune you are fallen into povei'ty, into diseases, 
 into disgrace and disappointment . . . you may generally 
 depend upon the sincerest sympathy of all your friends, and, 
 as far as interest and honour will permit^ upon their kindest 
 assistance too. But if 3'our misfortune is not of this dreadlul 
 kind, if you have only been a little baulked in your ambition, 
 if you have only been jilted by your mistress, or are only 
 henpecked by your wife, lay your account with the raillery of 
 all your acquaintance."
 
 46 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FEELING OP MERIT AND DEMERIT. 
 
 The sense of the propriety or impropriety of a moral aetion or 
 sentiment is, according' to Adam Smith, only one side of the 
 fact of moral approbation, a sense of their merit or demerit 
 constituting- the other side. An action or sentiment \^ proper 
 or improper in relation to its cause, or the motive which 
 excites it, wliilst it is meritorious or the contrary in relation 
 to its enTect, or in accordance with its beneficial or hurtful 
 tendency. 
 
 It is important to notice this distinction, for it is a protest, 
 as Adam Smitli himself declares, against the theories of Dr. 
 Hutcheson and Hume, who, he complains, had considered too 
 much the tendency of affections, their good or bad results, 
 whilst neglecting the relation in which they stood to their 
 causes. This was to overlook the facts of common life, since 
 a person's conduct and sentiments are generally regarded 
 under both these aspects, a man receiving blame for excess of 
 love, or grief, or resentment, not only by reason of the ruinous 
 effects they tend to produce, but also on account of the little 
 occasion that was given for them. It is the want of propor- 
 tion between a passion and its cause, as well as the sense of 
 its disastrous effects, which make up the whole character of 
 moral disapprobation. Whilst praise or blame are attached to 
 the first aspect of an action or sentiment, a stronger feeling of 
 Bympathy or antipathy attaches itbclf to either in connexion
 
 GRATITUDE AND RESENTMENT. 47 
 
 with thoir effects, a feeling that they deserve reward or punish- 
 ment, a feeling- in other words of their merit or demerit. 
 
 As gratitude is the feeling which most directly prompts us 
 to reward another man, and resentment that which most 
 directly prompts us to punish him, an action will call for 
 reward or punishment according as it is the object of either of 
 these feelings. The measure, thereCore, of the merit or demerit 
 of any action will be the feeling of gratitude or resentment it 
 excites. 
 
 But here again the pi'lnciple of sympathy must come into 
 play, to decide on the rightfulness of the gratitude or resent- 
 ment. An action can only seem meritorious or the contrary, 
 as deserving of reward or punishment, if it is the proper and 
 right object of gratitude or resentment ; and only that grati- 
 tude or resentment can be proper which commands the 
 sympathy of the impartial spectator. That mau^s action 
 deserves reward as meritorious who to somebody is the object 
 of a gratitude which every human heart is disposed to beat 
 time to, whilst his action seems to deserve punishment as bad 
 who to somebody is the object of a resentment which every 
 reasonable man can sympathize with and adopt. According 
 as ever}'body who hears of any action would wish to see it 
 rewarded or punished may it fairly be accounted meritorious 
 or the reverse. 
 
 In regarding, then, the beneficial or hurtful tendency of 
 actions, our sense of their merit or demerit, due to sympathy 
 with the gratitude or the resentment they respectively excite, 
 appears to arise in the following way. 
 
 Syitipathizing as we do with the joy of others in prosperity, 
 we also join them in the satisfaction with which they regard 
 the cause of their good fortune. If the cause has been a man, 
 this is more especially the case. We regard him in the same 
 engaging light in which we imagine he must appear to the
 
 48 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 object of his bounty, whilst our sj'mpathy with the joy of the 
 latter inspires us also with a reflection of the same gratitude 
 he feels. 
 
 In the same manner we sympathize not only with the 
 distress or sorrow of another, but with the aversion he feels 
 towards the cause of it. When we see one man oppressed or 
 injured by another^ our sympathy with the sufferer only 
 animates our fellow-feeling- with his resentment against his 
 oppressor. So we even enter into the imaginary resentment 
 of the slain, and by an illusive sympathy with that resent- 
 ment which we know he would feel, were he alive, exact 
 vengeance from the criminal who murdered him. 
 
 But although our sympathy with the beneficial results of 
 an act may thus lead us to join in the gratitude it occasions, 
 and so to regard it as meritorious or deserving of reward, this 
 is only, as has been said, one side or aspect of complete moral 
 approbation. To constitute the latter, a sense of the pro- 
 priety of an action must be joined to a sense of its merit; and 
 an action is only then really good when we can sympathize 
 with the motives of the agent as well as with the gratitude 
 his conduct produces. Wherever we cannot enter into the 
 affections of the agent, wherever we cannot recognize any 
 propriety in the motives which influenced him, we fail to 
 sympathize with the gratitude of the person he has befriended. 
 Where, for instance, the greatest benefits have been conferred 
 from the most trivial motives, as where a man gives an estate 
 to another simply because his name or his surname happen to 
 be the same as his own, little gratitude seems due ; and con- 
 sequently the action, though beneficial in its tendency, since 
 it fails to command our complete sympathy, fails to command 
 our complete approbation. 
 
 So on the other hand, however hurtful in their tendency a 
 man's actions or intentions may be, if we sympathize with his
 
 MORAL DISAPPROBATION. 49 
 
 motives, that is, if wo look upon him as in the right, we can 
 feel no sympathy with the resentment of the person in- 
 juriously afifected by him. If he suffers no more than our own 
 sympathetic indii^'nation would have prompted us to inllict 
 upon him, we have no fellow-feeling" with his suffering, an<l 
 consequently no sense of the demerit of the action he regards 
 with resentment. It would be impossible, for instance, to 
 sympathize with the resentment expressed by a murderer 
 against his judge. So that to constitute the sentiment of 
 complete moral disapprobation, there must be impropriety of 
 motive on the part of the agent as well as a hurtful result to 
 some one else ; or, in other words, for an action to be pro- 
 nounced b}' our sympathetic imagination completely bad, it 
 must be both improper in its motive and injurious in its result. 
 It is not enough for it to be simply injurious. 
 
 It results therefore from this analj'sis, that a complete 
 sense of the merit of an action, or the feeling of perfect 
 moral approbation, is really "a compounded sentiment," made 
 up of two distinct sympathetic emotions, namely, of a direct 
 sympathy with the sentiments of the agent, and an indirect 
 sympathy with the gratitude of those who receive the benefit 
 of his actions. Take our sense of the good desert of a par- 
 ticular character in history — Scipio, Timoleon, or Aristides. 
 In imagination we become those very persons, and, by a direct 
 sympathy with them, enter into their designs, and feel the 
 same generous sentiments that they felt. But we also by an 
 indirect sympathy feel the benefit of their great actions, and 
 enter into the gratitude of those who experienced them. Tlio 
 sympathetic emotions of gratitude and love, which we thus 
 feel when we bring home to our own breast the situation of 
 those originally concerned, account for our whole sense of the 
 merit of such actions, and for our desire of their meeting with 
 a fitting recompcuce.
 
 50 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 In tlie same way a complete sense of the demerit of an action 
 is a compounded sentiment made np of two distinct emotions; 
 of a direct antipathy to the sentiments of the agent, and an 
 indirect sympathy w^ith the resentment of the sufferer. "We 
 feel a direct antipathy to the detestable sentiments which 
 actuated a Borgia or a Nero, while we sympathize indirectly 
 with the resentment of those they afflicted. Our sense of the 
 atrocity of their conduct, and our delight in hearing of its 
 punishment — in short, our whole feeling of ill desert, and of 
 the justice of inflicting evil on the person who is guilty of it, 
 and of making him grieve in his turn — arises from the sym- 
 pathetic indignation which boils up in our breast whenever 
 we thoroughly bring home to ourselves the case of the sufferer. 
 Nor is it any degradation of our sense of the demerit of 
 actions to ascribe it to our sympathy with the resentment of 
 another. Resentment is in every respect the counterpart of 
 gratitude, and if our sense of merit arises from our sympathy 
 with the one, our sense of demerit may well arise from our 
 sympathy with the other. Resentment, too, as a principle of 
 human nature, is only evil when it appears in excess as 
 revenge; and as it is excessive a hundred times for once that 
 it is moderate, we are apt to consider it altogether detestable, 
 because in its ordinary manifestation it is so. But it is not 
 disappi'oved of when properly humbled, and entirely brought 
 down to the level of the sympathetic indignation of the 
 spectator. "When we as bystanders entertain an animosity 
 corresponding to that of the sufferer, when his resentment in 
 no respect exceeds our own, when no word nor gesture escapes 
 him that denotes an emotion more violent than we can sharp, 
 and when he never aims at inflicting a punishment severer 
 than that we should rejoice to see inflicted or would inflict 
 ourselves, it is impossible that we should not entirely approve 
 of his sentiments.
 
 THE MORALITY OF ACTIONS. 51 
 
 It ap.poars then in Adam Smith's theory, that the element 
 of morality in actions only really arises from reference to their 
 tendency. The sentiment or affection of the heart from which 
 all action results may in relation to its cause or motive be 
 regarded as unsuitable or disproportionate, according" as it 
 exceeds or falls short of that mean point with which the 
 general observer can sympathize. It may be thus approved 
 or disapproved as proper or improper, but it is not applauded 
 or condemned as moral or immoral. An anger which is out 
 of proportion to the cause of its provocation, a state of joy or 
 sorrow out of keeping with their origin, a generosity or bene- 
 volence that seem excessive, are blamed not as immoral, l)ut 
 as out of harmony with the feelings of a spectator. So with 
 reference to the bodily passions, it is the office of temperance 
 to confine them within those limits " which grace, which pro- 
 priety, which delicacy, and modesty require," (not within 
 those which morality require). It is only when regard is paid 
 to the efEects which flow from different actions, that a stronger 
 feeling appears, a feeling not merely of propriety or im- 
 propriety, but of their merit or demerit, or in other words, of 
 their moral worth or the contrary. 
 
 It is only actions of a beneficent tendency, which proceed 
 from proper motives, that are thus meritorious, for such 
 actions alone seem to deserve a reward, from the gratitude 
 they command from a spectator through sympathy. And it 
 is onl}'' actions of a hurfal lendency, which proceed from im- 
 proper motives, that seem really wicked, for they alone seem 
 to deserve a punishment, from the resentment they inspire a 
 spectator with by sympathy. 
 
 Adam Smith illustrates his theory that the wrongfulness or 
 demerit of actions depends on our sense of their deserving to 
 be punished by the two virtues of beneficence and justice. 
 The mere want of beneficence, the neglect to do the good 
 
 E 2
 
 52 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 expected of one^ may give rise to feeling's of dislike and dis- 
 approbation, but as it does no real positive evil, it provokes 
 no feeling of sympathetic resentment. Take a case of the 
 blackest ingratitude, where a man fails to recompense his 
 benefactor, when the latter stands in great need of his assist- 
 ance. Every impartial spectator rejects all fellow-feeling 
 with the selfishness of his motives, and he is the proper object 
 of the highest disapprobation. Still since he does no positive 
 hurt, but only neglects to do the good he might, he is the 
 object of hatred, not of resentment, two passions which differ 
 in this respect, that whilst the former is called forth by im- 
 propriefy of sentiment and behaviour, the latter is only 
 provoked by actions which tend to do real and positive hurt to 
 some particular persons. Ingratitude therefore cannot be 
 punished. It is improper, and meets with the disapprobation 
 of the spectator, but it is not wrong or immoral, in the sense 
 in which it would be, if it went a step further, and raised a 
 feeling of resentment by actual hurtfulness of tendenev 
 against somebody. 
 
 The jfjro/jtfr degree of beneficence, moreover, as that which 
 ordinary experience leads us to expect, and also makes the 
 measure of our praise or blame, is in itself neither praiseworthy 
 nor blameable. As it is only the defect of ordinary bene- 
 ficence which incurs our blame, so it is only the excess of it 
 which deserves our praise. A father, or son, or brother, who 
 behaves to the correspondent relation neither better nor worse 
 than the average of mankind do, seems to deserve neither 
 praise nor blame. His conduct, though it may attain that 
 point at which we recognize its propriety and so command 
 our approbation, commands nothing more. It is only when 
 we are sui-prised by unexpected, though proper kindness, or 
 by unexpected and imj)roper unkindness, that it attains the 
 point of being praiseworthy or the reverse.
 
 THE VIRTUE OF JUSTICE. 53 
 
 Beneficence, when it thus attains a high degree, when it 
 becomes productive of the greatest good, at once becomes the 
 object of the liveliest gratitude, appears to be deserving of 
 the highest reward, and consequently appears as meritorious 
 and praiseworthy. 
 
 The virtue of justice diflfors from that of beneficence in 
 that the violation of it, by doing real and positive hurt to 
 some particular persons, from motives that are disapproved 
 of, is the natural object of resentment, and calls in conse- 
 quence for punishment. Resentment was given to us " by 
 nature for defence, and for defence only. It is the safeguard 
 of justice and the security of innocence. It prompts us to 
 beat off the mischief which is attemi)ted to be done to us, and 
 to retaliate that which is already done, that the offender may be 
 made to repent of his injustice, and that others, through fear of 
 the like punishment, may be terrified from being guilty of the 
 like otTence/' As mankind generally approve of the violence 
 employed to avenge the hurt which is done by injustice, so 
 they much more approve of that which is employed to pre- 
 vent and beat off the injury, and to restrain the offender from 
 hurting his neighbour. Even the person guilty of intending 
 injustice feels that force may be used against him, both by 
 the person he is about to injure, or by others, either to 
 obstruct the execution of his crime, or to punish him when 
 he has executed it. 
 
 This fact accounts for the great distinction between justice 
 and all the other social virtues, that we feel a higher obliga- 
 tion to act according to justice than according to friendship, 
 charity, or generosity; and that, while the practice of the 
 latter virtues seems to be left in some measure to our own 
 choice, we feel ourselves to be " in a peculiar manner tied, 
 bound, and obliged to the observation of justice.^' For wo 
 feel that force may, with the utmost propriety, and with the
 
 54 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 approbation of mankind, be made use of to compel us to 
 observe the rules of the one, but not to follow the precepts of 
 the others. 
 
 It is this feeling", then, of the legitimate use of force and 
 punishment which makes us view with so much stronger a 
 sense of disapprobation actions which are unjust — that is, 
 injurious to others — than actions which are merely breaches 
 of that propriety which we like to see observed in the various 
 relationships that connect men together. A father who fails 
 in the ordinary degree of parental affection to a sou, or a son 
 who is wanting in filial i-espect for his father, or a man who 
 shuts up his heart against compassion, incur, indeed, blame; 
 but not that superior degree of blame which relates to actions 
 of a positively burti'ul tendency. 
 
 But though this superior form of disapprobation attaches 
 itself to acts of injustice, just as a superior form of approba- 
 tion attaches itself to actions of great beneficence, there is no 
 more merit in the observance of justice than there is demerit 
 in the neglect of beneficence. " There is, no doubt, a pro- 
 priety in the practice of justice, and it merits upon tliat 
 account all the approbation which is due to propriety. Eut 
 as it does no real positive good, it is entitle^d to very little 
 gratitude. Mere justice is, upon most occasions, but a nega- 
 tive virtue, and only hinders us from hurting our neighbour. 
 The man who barely abstains from violating either the person 
 or the estate or the reputation of his neighbours, has surely 
 very little positive merit. . . . We may often fulfil all the 
 rules of justice by sitting still and doings nothing." As before 
 explained, the sense of the merit of an action is different from 
 the sense of its propriety, and unless an action has both 
 these characteristics, it does not really satisfy the conditions 
 of moraliti/. 
 
 In proportion, therefore, to the resentment naturally fell by
 
 DEGREES OF INJURY. 55 
 
 a suflTei-cr from injustice is the sympathetic indignation of the 
 spectator, and the sense of guilt iu the agent. But the re- 
 sentment itself, being proportioned to the evil done by an act, 
 the demerit of an act may be measured by the evil it causes. 
 Death being the greatest evil one man can do to another, 
 and consequently incurring the highest indignation from those 
 connected with the slain man, takes rank as the woi'st of all 
 crimes. Injuries to a man's property and possessions being 
 less hurtful to him than an injury to his life or person, theit 
 and robber}^ rank next to murder in atrocity. And as it is a 
 smaller evil to be disappointed of what we have only in ex- 
 pectation than to be deprived of what we have in possession, 
 bi-each of contract is a less heinous crime than one which 
 attacks a man's actual property.
 
 56 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 INFLUENCE OF PROSPERITY OR ADVERSITY^ CHANCE, AND 
 CUSTOM UPON MORAL SENTIMENTS. 
 
 In the estimation of Dug-alcl Stewart, the most valuable con- 
 tributiou of Adam Smith to the improvement of moral science 
 is his attempt to account for the irreg-ularity of our moral 
 sentiments, and for their liability to be modified by other con- 
 siderations, very different from the propriety or impropriety 
 of the affections of the agent, or from their beneficial or 
 hurtful tendency. Adam Smith was, he thinks, the first 
 ])hilosopher to appreciate thoroug-hly the importance of the 
 difficulty, which is equall}^ great in every theory of the origin 
 of our moral sentiments; namely, that our actual moral senti- 
 ments of approbation, or the contrary, are greatly modified 
 by matters extraneous to the intention of the agent; as, for 
 example, by the influence on the act itself of quite fortuitous 
 or accidental circumstances. 
 
 There are, first of all, the efl'ects of prosperity and adversity 
 on the moral judgments of men with regard to the propriety 
 of action, whereby it is easier to obtain approbation in the 
 one condition than it is in the other. 
 
 In equal degrees of merit there is scarcely any one who 
 does not more respect the rich and great than the poor and 
 humble; and, on the other hand, an equal amount of vice 
 and folly is regarded with less aversion and contempt in the 
 former than it is in the latter. How is this to be explained?
 
 NATURAL SYMPATHY WITH JOY. 57 
 
 and what is the orif^iu of this perversion of moral senti- 
 ment? 
 
 The real explanation of it is to he sought in the fact of our 
 sympathetic emotions, which, as they enter more vividly into 
 tlie joys than into the sorrows of others, feel more pleasure in 
 the condition of the wealthy than in that of the poor. It is 
 agreeable to sympathize with joy, and painful to enter into 
 grief; so that, where there is no envy in the case, our pro- 
 pensity to sympathize with joy is much stronger than our 
 propensity to sympathize with sorrow; and our fellow-feeling 
 for the agreeable emotion approaches nearer to its original 
 intensity than our fellow-feeling for the painful emotion of 
 another person. It is for this reason that we are more 
 ashamed to weep than to laugh before company, though we 
 may often have as real occasion to do the one as the other : 
 \re always feel that the spectators are more likely to go along 
 with us in the agreeable than in the painful emotion. Hence 
 our disposition to admire the rich and powerful, and to despise 
 or neglect the poor and lowly, arises from our association of 
 joy and pleasure with the condition of tlie former, and of pain 
 and distress with that of the latter. 
 
 The condition of the former, in the delusive colours of our 
 imagination, seems to be almost the abstract idea of a perfect 
 and happy state. Hence we feel a peculiar satisfaction with 
 the satisfaction we attribute to them. We favour all their 
 inclinations, and forward all their wishes. ^Ye are eager 
 to assist them in completing a system of happiness that 
 approaches so near to perfection. 
 
 It is from the command which wealth thus has over the 
 sympathetic and agreeable sentiments of mankind that leads 
 to so eager a pursuit and parade of it, and to so strong an 
 aversion to, and concealment of, poverty. To what purpose 
 is all the toil of the world for wealth, power, and pre-emi-
 
 58 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 nence ? The only advantage really looked to from it is " to 
 l)e observed, to be attended to, to be taken notice of with 
 sympathy, complacency, and approbation;" and the rich man 
 glories more in his riches, because they naturally draw upon 
 him the attention of the world, than for any of the other 
 advantages connected with them. And for the same reason 
 the poor man is ashamed of his poverty, for though he may 
 be as well supplied as the rich man with the necessities of 
 life, he is mortified at being placed out of the sight of man- 
 kind, at being treated with neglect, and at being an object of 
 the antipathy rather than of the sympath}' of his fellows. 
 
 Rank and distinction are therefore coveted, as setting us in 
 a situation most in view of general sympathy and attention. 
 ''And thus, place — that great object which divides the wives of 
 aldermen — is the end of half the labours of human life, and is the 
 cause of all the tumult and bustle, all the rapine and injustice, 
 which avarice and ambition have introduced into the world.''' 
 
 And thus, from our natural disposition to admire the rich 
 and powerful, a different standard of judgment arises about 
 the propriety of their conduct than that employed about the 
 Ijohaviour of other men. A single transorression of the rules 
 of temperance and propriety by a common man is generally 
 more resented than their constant and avowed neglect by a 
 man of fashion. In the superior stations of life, the road to 
 virtue and that to fortune are not always the same, as they 
 are generally in the middling and inferior stations. In the 
 latter stations of life success nearly always depends on the 
 favour and good opinion of equals and neighbours, and these 
 can seldom be obtained without a tolerably regular conduct. 
 In them, therefore, "we may generally cx|)ect a considerable 
 degree of virtue; and fortunately for the good morals of 
 Society, these are the Kituations of by far the greater part of 
 mankind.'''
 
 CHANCE AND MORAL SENTIMENTS. 59 
 
 Not only however has prosperity or adversity great in- 
 fluence on our moral sentiments, leading* us to see a propriety 
 in a certain course of behaviour in the one condition which 
 we are apt to condemn as improper in the other, but the 
 praise or blame we attach to any action depends to a greiit 
 extent on the effect upon it of fortune or accident. Althouy-h 
 everybody allows that the merit or demerit of actions is still 
 the same, whatever their unforeseen consequences may be, yet, 
 when we come to particular cases, it is clear that our senti- 
 ments of merit or demerit are very much affected by the 
 actual consequences which happen to proceed from an}' action, 
 and that our sense of either of them is thereby enhanced or 
 diminished. 
 
 Every action consists of three parts, some one of which 
 must constitute the basis of whatever praise or blame we 
 attribute to it. These three parts are : the intention or af- 
 fection of the heart, from which the action proceeds ; the 
 external movement of the body which this affection causes ; and 
 the good or bad consequences which actually flow from it. 
 It is evident that the movement of the body, being olteu the 
 same in the most innocent as in the mosl hlameable actions — 
 as in the case of shooting at a bird and shooting at a man — ■ 
 cannot be the source of praise or blame. Neither can the 
 accidental consequences of an action, which depend on fortune, 
 not on the agent. The only consequences for which the latter 
 is responsible are those in some way connected with his in- 
 tention; so tluit it is to the intention or affection of the heart, 
 to the propriety or impropriety, to the beneficence or hurt- 
 fulness of the design, that all praise or blame, all ap})robation 
 or disapprobation of any kind, must ultimately belong. 
 
 The problem then to be explained is the fact that our 
 sense of a man^s merit or demerit is at all induenecd by re- 
 sults which lie beyond his control, and that we moderate our
 
 6o ADAM SMITH. 
 
 praise or blame of his conduct according" as his g-ood or bad 
 intention fails or not of its intended benefit or injury. The 
 explanation is as follows. 
 
 The passions of gratitude and resentment, on which depend 
 our feeling of the merit or demerit of actions, are ultimately 
 based on the bodily sensation of pleasure and pain. They are 
 excited primaril}^ by whatever produces pleasure or pain, even 
 by inanimate objects. *' We are angry for a moment even 
 with the stone that hurts us. A child beats it, a dog barks 
 at it, a choleric man is apt to curse it.'^ We should feel 
 guilty of a sort of inhumanity, if we neglected to avenge our 
 friend by the destruction of the instrument that had acci- 
 dently caused his death. So it is with gratitude. A sailor 
 who mended his fire with the plank that had saved him from 
 shipwreck would seem guilty of an unnatural act, for we 
 should expect him to preserve it with care and affection. So 
 we conceive something like a real love and affection for a 
 snuff-box, or pen-knife, or a stick, to which we have long been 
 accustomed. " The house which we have long lived in, the 
 tree whose verdure and shade we have long* enjoyed, are both 
 looked upon with a sort of respect which seems due to such 
 benefactors. The decay of the one, or the ruin of the other, 
 affects us with a kind of melancholy, though we should 
 sustain no loss by it." 
 
 Nevertheless to be the proper object of gratitude and re- 
 sentment, a thing must not only be the cause of pleasure and 
 pain, but itself capable of feeling them in return. Animals 
 therefore are less improper objects of gratitude and resent- 
 ment than inanimate things. " The dog that bites, the ox 
 that gores, are both of them punished. If they have been the 
 causes of the death of any person, neither the public, nor the 
 relations of the slain, can be satisfied, unless they are put to 
 death in their turn.''^ And on the other hand, animals that
 
 GRATITUDE AND RESENTMENT. 6i 
 
 have done a great service, are reg-arded with much gratitude; 
 and we are shocked with the ing'ratitude of the officer, in the 
 Tnrkhli Spi/, who stabbed the horse which had carried him 
 across an arm of the sea, lest it should ever distinguish some 
 other person by a similar feat. 
 
 But something more is still necessary to the complete 
 g-ratification of gratitude and resentment than the mere capa- 
 bility for feeling pleasure or pain in return for pain or pleasure 
 caused. The latter must have been caused by design, and 
 there must be a consciousness of design in the return. The 
 object of resentment is chiefly not so much to make our enemy 
 feel pain in his turn, as to make him conscious that he feels it 
 upon account of his past conduct, and to make him repent of 
 that conduct. And the chief object of gratitude is not only 
 to make our benefactor feel pleasure in his turi-, but to make 
 him conscious that he meets with that reward on account 
 of his past conduct, and to make him pleased with that 
 conduct. 
 
 Hence three different qualifications are necessary to render 
 anything the complete and proper object of gratitude or re- 
 sentment. It must first of all be the cause of pleasure or pain ; 
 it must secondly be capable of feeling pleasure or pain ; and 
 it must thirdly produce pleasure or pain from a design, ap- 
 proved of in the one case or disapproved of in the other. 
 
 Since then the productiveness of pleasure or pain is the 
 primary exciting cause of gratitude or resentment, though the 
 intentions of any person should be ever so proj^er and bene- 
 ficent, or ever so improper and malevolent, yet, if he has 
 failed in producing the good or evil he intended, less gratitude 
 or resentment seems due to him, or in other words, less merit 
 or demerit seems to attach to him, because the pleasure or 
 pain, the exciting causes of gratitude or resentment, are in 
 either case wanting. And so, who>re in a man's intentions
 
 62 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 there has been no laudable benevolence or blameable malice, 
 but his actions have nevertheless done gi-eat good or great 
 evil, then some gratitude or resentment will attach to him, 
 because their exciting causes have been present in either case. 
 But since the consequences of a man^s actions rest altogether 
 with fortune, our sentiments of merit or demerit depend to a 
 great extent upon her influence on events, upon her control 
 of the good or bad, the pleasurable or painful results, which 
 flow from our actions. 
 
 Thus the irregularity of our moral sentiments concerning 
 the merit or demerit of actions depends ultimately on the 
 accidental amount of pleasure or pain they produce, since 
 these are the primary exciting causes of our gratitude or 
 resentment. Having explained the cause of the phenomenon, 
 it remains to illustrate the effects. 
 
 Even the impartial spectator feels in some measure a 
 difference of merit in a man's conduct according as his good 
 intentions have produced or not the results intended by him, 
 although they may only have been defeated by accident. It 
 is indeed common to say, that we are equally obliged to the 
 man who has endeavoured to serve us, as to the man who 
 really has served us; but this saying, "like all other fine 
 speeches, must be understood with a grain of allowance." 
 When all other circumstances are equal, there will always be, 
 even in the best and noblest mind, some difference of affection 
 in favour of the friend who carries out his good intention, as 
 against the friend who fails to do so. 
 
 And as the merit of an unsuccessful attempt to do good is 
 diminished by its miscarriage, so is the demerit of an un- 
 successful attempt to do evil. Except in the case of treason, 
 the conception of which is in many countries punished as 
 severely as its commission, the mere design to commit acrime 
 is scarcely ever punished as heavily as its actual perpetration.
 
 CRIMINAL ATTEMPTS. Gi 
 
 In hardly any country is the man, who fires a pistol at his 
 enemy but misses him, punished with death, though there is 
 the same degree of depravity in the criminal design as in the 
 criminal action. *' The resentment of mankind, however, 
 runs so high against this crime, their terror for the man who 
 shows himself capable of committing it is so great, that the 
 mere attempt to commit it ought in all countries to be capital. 
 The attempt to commit smaller crimes is almost always 
 punished very lightly, and sometimes is not punished at all. 
 The thief, whose hand has been caught in his neighbour's 
 pocket before he had taken anything out of it, is punished 
 with ignominy only. If he had got time to take away a 
 handkerchief, he would have been put to death.''^' The state 
 of the law only reflects the natural feelings of individuals, 
 who feel less resentment when a man has failed in executing 
 the mischief he intended than when he has actually done them 
 an injury. 
 
 For the same reason, a man, who has been saved purely by 
 accident from the commission of a crime he intended, though 
 he is conscious that his real guilt, that of his heart, remains 
 the same, considers himself as less deserving of resentment 
 and punishment; and thus all the sense of his guilt is either 
 diminished or destroyed by the mere fact of fortune having 
 favoured him. 
 
 Again, as Fortune influences our moral sentiments by lessen- 
 ing tl:e good or evil, the pleasure or pain, intended by our 
 actions, so does she increase our sense of their merit or demerit, 
 beyond what their mere intention would justify, when they 
 happen to give rise to extraordinary pleasure or pain. Even 
 
 * It is rcmaikable, as characteristic of the difference of feeling between 
 Adam Smith's time and our own, that he should have mentioned this f;tct 
 in the criminal law of his time, without the slijjhtest comment of d.s- 
 a^iprovul.
 
 6i ADAM SMITH. 
 
 when an intention deserves neither praise nor blame, we are 
 conscious of a shade of merit or demerit, according- to its agree- 
 able or disagreeable effects on us. We feel a transitory grati- 
 tude to the bearer of good tidings, and a transitory resentment 
 to the innocent author of our sorrow. And though we think it 
 barbarous in Tigranes, king of Armenia, to have struck off the 
 head of a man for being the first to announce the approach of 
 an enemy, yet we think it reasonable that, by the custom of 
 all courts, the officer who first brings the news of a victory 
 should be entitled to considerable preferments. 
 
 When the negligence of one man causes damage to another, 
 even though his negligence should be no more than a want of 
 extreme circumspection, the law often insists on compen- 
 sation. In Rome there was a law which compelled any one 
 who, by reason of his horse taking fright and becoming 
 unmanageable, rode over another man^s slave, to compensate 
 the loss. The man himself who thus unintentionally hurts 
 another shows some sense of his own demerit by at least 
 offering an apology. Yet why should he make an apology 
 more than any one else? It is because he is aware that the 
 impartial spectator will feel some sympathy with the natural, 
 l)ut unjust, resentment of the person he has accidentally 
 injured. 
 
 But the negligence displayed in any action may be so great 
 as to call not merely for blame and censure, but for actual 
 punishment. For we may so far enter into the resentment felt 
 by one man on account of an unintended injury done to him 
 by another, as to approve of his inflicting a punishment on the 
 offender which would have seemed in excess of the demerit of 
 his offence had no unlucky consequences ensued. For instance, 
 though nothing would appear more shocking to our natural 
 sense of equity than to execute a man merely for having care- 
 lessly thrown a stone into the street without hurting anybody.
 
 CUS TOM A ND FA SHION. 65 
 
 yet, if the stone hnppened to kill anybocl}^, so great would be 
 the effect of this accident on our moral sentiments that, though 
 the man's folly and inhumanity would not be greater in one 
 case than in the other, we should not consider the severest 
 punishment too hard for him. Gross negligence is, there- 
 fore, in law almost the same as malicious design. Lata culjja 
 prope dolum est. 
 
 But our moral sentiments are considerably affected, not only 
 by the fact of the prosperity or adversity of the person whose 
 conduct we judge, and by the influence of fortune or af^cident 
 on the result of his intentions, but they are also greatly 
 modified by those two great principles of Custom and Fashion, 
 which have caused so wide a difference of opinion about what 
 is blameable or praiseworthy to prevail in different ages and 
 nations. For the virtues of the savage state are different 
 from those of the civilized statp. the virtues of one profession 
 are different from those of another, and those again which we 
 admire in youth are different from those we look for in old 
 age. 
 
 This fact is due to the influence of custom, or of fashion, 
 which is a species of custom, as the custom of persons of high 
 rank or character. For both these affect our moral sentiments, 
 albeit in a less degree, \Qi in exactly the same way that they 
 affect our ideas and feelings about beauty in all objects sub- 
 mitted to our observation. 
 
 The influence of custom on our ideas of beauty is very great. 
 For whenever two objects have been seen in fi*equent conjunc- 
 tion together, the imagination acquires a habit of passing 
 easily from the one to the other; and thus, from the mere 
 habit of expecting to see one when we see the other, thougii 
 tliere should be no real beauty in their union, we are conscious 
 of an impropriety when they chance to be separated. If even 
 a suit of clothes is without some insignificant bat usual orna- 
 
 P
 
 <jo ADAM SMITH. 
 
 ment, such as a button, we are in some measure displeased by 
 its absence. 
 
 The fashion of things changes with a rapidity proportioned 
 to the durableness of their material. The modes of furniture 
 change less rapidly than those of dress, because furniture is 
 generally more durable; but in five or six years it generally 
 undergoes a complete revolution^ and every man se^sits fashion 
 change in many different ways even in his own lifetime. But 
 the productions of such arts as music, poetry, or architecture, 
 being much more lasting, the fashion or custom, which prevails 
 no less over them than over whatever else is the object of taste, 
 may continue unchanged for a much longer time. A building 
 may endure for ages, a beautiful air may be handed down 
 through generations, a poem may last as long as the world, 
 and thus they may all set the fashion of their jiarticular style 
 or taste much longer than the design of a particular mode of 
 dress or furniture. It is only because of the greater per- 
 manence of their fashion, which prevents our having much 
 experience of any change in them, that makes it less easy for 
 us to recognize that the rules we think ought to be observed 
 in each of the fine arts are no more founded on reason and the 
 nature of things than they are in the matter of our furniture 
 and dress. 
 
 In architecture, for instance, no reason can be assigned 
 beyond habit and custom for the propriety of attaching to 
 each of the five orders their peculiar ornaments. The eye, 
 having been used to associate a certain ornamentation with a 
 certain order, would be offended at missing their conjunction ; 
 but it is inconceivable that, prior to established custom, five 
 hundred other forms shouli not have suited those proportions 
 ecjually well. 
 
 It is the same in poetry. The ancients thought that a 
 certain species of verse was by nature appropriated to a par-
 
 IDEAS OF BEAUTY. 67 
 
 ticiilar species of writing", according- to the sentiment or 
 character intended to be described. One kind of verse was 
 fit for grave and another for g-a}' themes, nor could either be 
 interchanged without the greatest impropriety. Yet that 
 which is the verse of burlesque in English is the heroic verse 
 in French, simply because " custom has made the one nation 
 associate the ideas of gravity, sublimity, and seriousness with 
 that measure which the other has connected with whatever is 
 gay, flippant, and ludicrous.'^ 
 
 Custom influences our judgment no less with regard to the 
 beauty of natural objects; and the proportions which we 
 admire in one kind of animal are quite different from those we 
 admire in another. Every class of things has a beauty of its 
 own, distinct from that of every other species. 
 
 Adam Smith stops short, however, of adopting the theory, 
 Fo ably advocated in th.e last century by the Jesuit Buffier, 
 and followed by Sir Joshua Reynolds, that custom is the sole 
 principle of beauty, and that the beauty of every object con- 
 sists simply \\\ that form and colour which is most usual in 
 evei*} particular class of things. According to Buffier, in each 
 species of creatures, that form was most beautiful which bore 
 the strongest character of the general fabric of its species, and 
 had the strongest resemblance to the greater number of the 
 individuals with which it was classed. Hence the most cus- 
 tomary form was the most beautiful, and much practice was 
 needed to judge of the beauty of distinct species of things, or 
 to know wherein the middle or most usual form consisted. 
 Henoe, too, different ideas of beauty existed in different 
 countries, where difference of climate produced difference of 
 type. Adam Smith so far agrees with this doctrine as to 
 acknowledge that there is scarcely any external form so beau- 
 tiful as to please, if' quite contrary to custom, nor any so 
 deformed as not to be agreeable, if uniformly supported by it; 
 
 F 2
 
 68 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 but he also argues that, independently of custom, we are 
 pleased by the appearance of the utility of any form — by its 
 fitness for the purposes for which it was intended. Certain 
 colours, moreover, are more agreeable than others, even the 
 first time they are beheld by us ; and though he does not lay 
 the same stress on smoothness as Burke did, who held that 
 nothing was beautiful that was not smooth, he also admits 
 that a smooth surface is naturally more agreeable than a rough 
 one. 
 
 The influence of custom and fashion uponour.ideas of beauty 
 generally being so great as has been explained, what is their 
 influence upon our ideas of beauty of conduct ? To this the 
 answer is, that their influence is perfectly similar in kind, 
 though not so great, or rather less potent, over morals than it 
 is over anything else. Although there is no form of external 
 objects to which custom will not reconcile us, nor fashion 
 render agreeable to us, the characters or the conduct of a Nero 
 or a Claudius are what no custom can ever make agreeable, or 
 other than the objects of our hatred or derision ; for the senti- 
 ments of moral approbation and disapprobation are founded on 
 the strongest passions of human nature, and, though they can 
 be v»'arpt, they can never be perverted. 
 
 Just as custom diminishes our sense of the impropriety of 
 things which we ai*e accustomed to see together, as in the case 
 of absurdity of dress, so familiarity from youth upwards with 
 violence, falsehood, and injustice takes away all sense of the 
 enormity of such conduct; and, on the other hand, when 
 custom and fashion coincide with the principles of right and 
 wrong, they enhance our moral ideas and increase our abhor- 
 rence for everything evil. ''Those who have been educated 
 in what is really good company — not in what is commonly 
 called such — who have been accustomed to see nothing in the 
 persons whom they esteemed and lived with but justice,
 
 VARIABILITY OF MANNERS. 69 
 
 modesty^ liumanit}' and good order, are more shocked witli 
 whatever seems to be iuconsistent with the rules which those 
 virtues pref^cribe." 
 
 Custom affords an explanation of the different ideas of good 
 conduct prevalent in different degrees of civilization. For 
 every age and country look upon that degree of each quality 
 which is most usual in those among themselves who are most 
 esteemed as the golden mean of that particular talent or 
 virtue. Their sentiments concerning the degree of each 
 quality that deserves praise or blame vary according to the 
 degree which is most common in their own country and times ; 
 thus, that degree of politeness which might be thought 
 effeminate adulation in Russia might be regarded as barbarous 
 rudeness in France. 
 
 In general, the style of manners prevalent in any nation is 
 that which is most suitable to its situation. That which is 
 most suitable being, then, that which is naturally most com- 
 mon, different standards arise with regard to the general 
 propriety of behaviour. A savage, in continual danger, or 
 exposed to frequent want, acquires a hardiness of character, an 
 insensibility to the sufferings of himself or others, which is 
 most suitable to the circumstances of his situation, and which 
 affords a very different standard of self-command than that 
 which is cither usual or necessary in civilized, life. The 
 general security and happiness which prevail in ages of cul- 
 ture, by affording little exercise to contempt of danger, or to 
 the endurance of pain or hunger, enable the virtues which are 
 founded on humanity to be more cultivated than those which 
 are founded on self-denial; so that to complain when in pain, 
 to grieve in distress, to be overcome by love or anger, are not 
 regarded as weaknesses, as they would be in savage lile, nor 
 as affecting the essential parts of a man's character. 
 
 In the different professions and ages of life the same iuflu-
 
 70 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 ence of custom may be traced. In each rank and profession 
 we expect a degree of those manners which experience has 
 taught us to look for in them. As in each species of natural 
 objects we are pleased with the conformity to the general type, 
 so in eiich species of men we are pleased, *' if they have neithei 
 too much nor too little of the character which usually accom- 
 panies their particular condition and situation.''^ Our appro- 
 bation of a certain kind of military character is founded entirely 
 on habit ; for we are taught hy custom to annex to the mili- 
 tary profession "the character of gaiety, levity, and sprightly 
 freedom, as well as of some degree of dissipation." Whatever 
 behaviour we have been accustomed to see in any order ot 
 men, comes to be so associated with that order, that whenever 
 we see the one we expect to see the other, and are pleased or 
 disappointed according as we see it or not. ISevertheless, 
 thei-e may exist a propriety of professional behaviour, inde- 
 pendent of the custom which leads us to expect it; and we 
 ieel that, apart from all custom, there is a propriety in the 
 gravity of manners which custom has allotted to the profession 
 of a clergyman. 
 
 In the same way different manners are assigned to the dif- 
 ferent periods which mark human life. In youth we look 
 for that sensibility, gaiety, and vivacity which experience 
 teaches us to expect at that age ; and at the extreme of life, a 
 certain gravity and sedateness is the character which custom 
 teaches us is both most natural and most respectable. 
 
 But nevertheless it is necessary not to exaggerate the effects 
 of custom and fashion on our moral sentiments ; for it is more 
 concerning the propriety or impropriety of particular usages 
 than about things of the greatest importance that their in- 
 fluence is most apt to cause perversion of judgment. "We 
 expect truth and justice from an old man as well as from a 
 young, from a clergyman as well as from an officer; and it is
 
 INFLUENCE OF CUSTOM ON MORALS. 71 
 
 in matters of small moment only that we look for the distin- 
 guishing- marks of their respective characters." No society 
 could subsist a moment if custom could exercise such perver- 
 sion over our moral sentiments, with regard to the general 
 stjle of conduct and behaviour, as it exercises with regard to 
 the propriety of particular usages. Uninternipied custom 
 prevented the philosophers of Athens recognizing the evil of 
 infanticide ; and to say that a thing is commonly done is daily 
 offered as an apology for what in itself is the most unjust and 
 unreasonable conduct.
 
 72 ADAAf SMIIII. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THEORY OF CONSCIENCE AND DUTY. 
 
 The theory of Hutcheson, that there exists in mankind an 
 inward moral sense concerned with the direct perception of 
 moral qualities in actions just as the sense of hearing or seeing 
 is concerned with the direct perception of sounds or objects, 
 or the theory of Shaftesbury that what we call conscience is 
 a primary principle of human nature irresoluble into other 
 facts, is very different from the theory of Adam Smith, who 
 refers our moral perceptivity to the workings of the instinct 
 of sympath}'. 
 
 Having accounted for our moral judgments of the actions 
 of others by bringing them to the test of our power to sym- 
 pathize with them, he proceeds to explain our moral judgments 
 concerning our own acts by a sort of reflex application of the 
 same principle of sympathy. Our sense of duty, our feeling 
 of conscience, arises simply from the application to our own 
 conduct of the judgments we have learned to pass upon others. 
 So that there really exists no moral faculty which is not 
 originally borrowed from without. 
 
 In the same manner as we approve or disapprove of another 
 man's conduct, according as we feel that, when we bring his 
 case home to ourselves, we can sympathize or not with his mo- 
 tives ; so we approve or disapprove of our own conduct accord- 
 ing as we feel that, by making our case in imagination another
 
 ORIGIN OF SELF-APPROBATION. n 
 
 man's, he can sympathize or not with our motives. The only 
 way by which we can form any judgment about our own 
 sentiments and motives is by removing ourselves from our own 
 natural station, and by viewing them at a certain distance 
 from us ; a proceeding only possible by endeavouring to view 
 them with the eyes of other people^ or as they are likely to 
 view them. All our judgment, therefore, concerning ourselves 
 must bear some secret reference either to what are or to what 
 we think ought to be the judgment of others. We imagine 
 ourselves the impartial spectator of our own conduct, and 
 according as we, from that situation, enter or not into the 
 motives which influenced us, do we approve or condemn 
 ourselves. 
 
 We do not therefore start with a moral consciousness by 
 which we learn to judge of others, but from our judgments 
 about others we come to have a moral consciousness of our- 
 selves. Our first moral criticisms are exercised upon the 
 characters and conduct of other people, and by observing that 
 these eommaud either our praise or blame, and that we our- 
 selves affect them in the same way, we become anxious in turn 
 to receive their praise and to avoid their censure. So we 
 imagine what effect our own conduct would have upon us, 
 were we our own impartial spectators, such a method being 
 the only looking-glass by which we can scrutinize, with the 
 eyes of other people, the propriety of our own conduct. 
 
 Accordingly our sense of personal morality is exactly analo- 
 gous to our sense of personal beauty. Our first ideas of beauty 
 and ugliness are derived from the appearance of others, not 
 from our own. But as we are aware that other people exercise 
 upon us the same criticism we exercise upon them, we become 
 desirous to know how far our figure deserves their blame or 
 approbation. So we endeavour by the help of a looking-glass 
 to view ourselves at the distance and with the eyes of oihor
 
 74 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 people, and are pleased or displeased with the result, according 
 as we feel they will be affected by our appearance. 
 
 But it is evident that we are only anxious about our own 
 beauty or ugliness on account of its effect upon others ; and 
 that, had we no connexion with society, we should be alto- 
 gether indifferent about either. So it is with morality. If a 
 human creature could grow up to manhood in some solitary 
 place, without any communication with his own kind, '' he 
 could no more think of his own chai-acter, of the propriety or 
 demerit of his own sentiments, of the beauty or deformity of 
 his own mind, than of the beauty or deformity of his own 
 face.'* Society is the mirror by which he is enabled to see all 
 these qualities in himself. In the countenance and behaviour 
 of those he lives with, which always mark when they enter 
 into or disapprove of his sentiments, he first views the pro- 
 priety or impropriety of his own passions, and the beauty or 
 depravity of his own mind. 
 
 The consciousness of merit, the feeling of self-approbation, 
 admits therefore of easy explanation. Virtue is amiable and 
 meritorious, by reference to the sentiments of other men, by 
 reason of its exciting certain sentiments in them ; and the 
 consciousness that it is the object of their favourable regards 
 is the source of that inward tranquillity and self-satisfaction 
 which attends it, just as the sense of incurring opposite senti- 
 ments is the source of the torments of vice. If we have done 
 a generous action from proper motives, and survey it in the 
 light in which the indifferent spectator will survey it, we 
 applaud ourselves by sympathy with the approbation of this 
 supposed impartial judge, whilst, by a reflex sympathy with 
 the gratitude paid to ourselves, we are conscious of having 
 behaved meritoriously, of having made ourselves worthy of 
 the most favourable regards of our fellow-men. 
 
 Bemorse, on the other hand, arises from the opposite senti-
 
 ORIGIN OF REMORSE. 75 
 
 ments; and shame is clue to the reflection of the sentiments 
 our conduct will raise in other men. We again regard our- 
 selves from their point of view, and so by sympathizing with 
 the hatred which they must entertain for our conduct, we 
 become the object of our own blame and hatred. We enter 
 into the resentment naturally excited by our own acts, and 
 anticipate with fear the punishment by which such resentment 
 may express itself. This remorse is, of all the sentiments 
 which can enter the human breast, the most dreadful ; " it is 
 made up of shame from the sense of the impropriety of past 
 conduct; of grief for the effects of it; of pity for those who 
 sufier by it; and of the dread and terror of punishment from 
 the consciousness of the justly provoked resentment of all 
 rational creatures.'' 
 
 In this consciousness of the accordance or discordance of 
 our conduct with the feelings of others consists then all the 
 pleasure of a good conscience or of self-approbation, or all the 
 pain of remorse or self-condemnation. The one is based on 
 our love of praise, which the comparison of our own conduct 
 with that of others naturally evolves in us, and the other on. 
 our aversion to blame, which arises in the same way. 
 
 But if a good or bad conscience consisted simply in knowing 
 ourselves to be the objects of praise or blame, we might ap- 
 prove or condemn ourselves irrespective of the correspondence 
 of external opinion with our real merit or demerit. It is not, 
 therefore, mere praise or blame that we desire or dread, but 
 praise-worthiness or blame-worthiness; that is to say, to ^e 
 that thing, which, though it should be praised or blamed by 
 nobody, is the proper object of those mental states. We desire 
 the praise not merely of the spectator, but of the impartial 
 and well-informed spectator. 
 
 Adam Smith devotes considerable argument to the origin 
 and explanation of this principle of our moral nature, seeking
 
 •j6 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 ill this way to raise the account he gives of conscience to a 
 highci' level than it could attain as a mere reflex from the 
 sympathies of others about ourselves. As from the love or 
 admiration we entertain for the characters of others, we come 
 to desire to have similar sentiments entertained about our- 
 selves, we should have uo more satisfaction from a love or 
 admiration bestowed on us undeservedly than a woman who 
 paints her face would derive any vanity from compliments paid 
 to her complexion. Praises bestowed on us either for actions 
 we have not performed or for motives wdiich have not influ- 
 enced us, are praises bestowed in reality on another person, not 
 on ourselves, and consequently give us no sort of satisfaction. 
 But for the same reason that groundless praise can give us 
 no solid joy, the mere absence of praise deducts nothing from 
 the pleasure of praise-worthiness. Though no approbation 
 should ever reach us, we are pleased to have rendered ourselves 
 the proper objects of approbation ; and in the sarse way we 
 are mortified at justly incurring blame, though no blame should 
 ever actually be attached to us. We view our conduct not 
 always as the spectator actually does view it, but as he would 
 view it if he knew all the circumstances. We feel self-apprc- 
 bation or the reverse, by sympathy with sentiments which do 
 not indeed actually take place, but which only the ignorance 
 of the public prevents from taking place, which we know are 
 the natural effects of our conduct, which our imagination 
 strongly connects with it, and Avhich we conceive therefore 
 as properly belonging to it. The satisfaction we feel with the 
 approbation which we should receive and enjoy, weie every- 
 thing known, resembles very much the satisfaction which men 
 feel who sacrifice their lives to anticipate in imagination the 
 praise that will only be bestowed on them when dead, the 
 praise which they would receive and enjoy, were they theni.sclvt's 
 to live to be conscious of it.
 
 PRAISE A ND PRA ISE- IVOR THINESS. yj 
 
 Hence self-approbation, though originally founded on the 
 imaginary approbation of other men, becomes at last inde- 
 pendent of such confirmation, and the sense of the perfect 
 propriety of our own conduct comes to need no external 
 testimony to assure us of it. But the love of self-appro1:)ation, 
 which is in fact the same as the love of virtue, is still founded 
 on an implied reference to the verdict of persons external to 
 ourselves, and thus the " still small voice " of conscience 
 resolves itself into the acclamations of mankind. 
 
 Adam Smith, in accordance with a leading principle of his 
 system, the importance of which will be noticed in a subse- 
 quent chapter, traces in this desire on our part for praise- 
 worthiness as apart from our desire of praise, an intention of 
 Nature for the good of society. For though in forming man 
 for society, she endowed him with an original desire to please 
 and an original aversion to offend his fellows, and, by making 
 him to feel pleasure in their favourable, and pain in their un- 
 favourable regards, taught him to love their approbation, and 
 to dislike their disapproval, she yet saw that this mere love 
 of the one, or dislike of the other, would not alone have ren- 
 dered him fit for society. Since the mere desire for approba- 
 tion could only have made him wish to appear to be fit for 
 society, could only have prompted him to the affectation of 
 virtue, and to the concealment of vice; she endowed him not 
 only with the desire of being approved of, but with the desire 
 of being what ought to be approved of, or of being what he 
 himself approves of in other men. So she made him anxious 
 to be really fit for society, and so she sought to inspire him 
 with the real love of virtue and a real abhorrence of vice. 
 
 In the same way that we are thus taught to wish to be the 
 objects of love and admiration are we taught to wish not to 
 be the objects of hatred and contempt. We dread blame- 
 worthiness, or being really blameworthy, irrespective of all
 
 ;8 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 actual blame that may accrue to us. The most perfect 
 assurance that no eye has seen our action, does not prevent us 
 from viewing- it as the impartial spectator would have re- 
 garded it, could he have been present. We feel the shamo 
 vre should be exposed to if our actions became generally 
 known ; and our imag'ination anticipates the contempt and 
 derision from which we are only saved by the ignorance ot 
 our fellows. But if we have committed not merely an im- 
 propriety, which is an object of simple disapprobation, but a 
 heinous crime, which excites strong resentment, then, though 
 we might be assured that no man would ever know it, and 
 though we might believe that there was no God who would 
 ever punish it, we should still feel enough agony and remorse, 
 as the natural objects of human hatred and punishment, to 
 have the whole of our lives embittered. So great, indeed, 
 are these pangs of conscience, that even men of the worst 
 characters, who in their crimes have avoided even the suspi- 
 cion of guilt, have been driven, by disclosing what could 
 never have been detected, to reconcile themselves to the 
 natural sentiments of mankind. So completel}', even in per- 
 sons of no sensibility, does the horror of blame-worthiness 
 exceed the dread of actual blame. 
 
 The fact, Adam Smith thinks, calls for explanation, that 
 while most men of ordinary capacity despise unmerited praise, 
 even men of the soundest judgment are mortiKed by un- 
 merited reproach. For, however conscious a man may be of 
 his own innocence, the imputation seems often, even in his 
 own imagination, to throw a shadow of disgrace over his 
 character^ and if he is brought to suffer the extreme punish- 
 ment of human resentment, religion alone can afford him any 
 effectual comfort, by teaching him of an approbation, higher 
 and more important than that of humanity. Why, then, is 
 unjust censure so much less indifferent than unmerited praise?
 
 DESIRE OF PUBLIC APPROVAL. 79 
 
 The answer is, that the pain of the one is so much more 
 pung-cnt tlian the pleasure of the other. A man of sensibility 
 is more humiliated by just censure than he is elevated by 
 just applause. And it is much easier to rid oneself by denial, 
 of the slight pleasure of unmerited praise, than of the pain ot 
 unjust reproach. Though nobody doubts any one's veracity 
 when he disclaims some merit ascribed to him, it is at once 
 doubted if he denies some crime which rumour lays to his 
 charge. 
 
 "When we are perfectly satisfied with every part of our 
 own conduct, the judgment of others is of less importance to 
 us than uhen we are in any doubt of the propriety of our 
 actions ; and the opinion of others, their approbation or the 
 contrary, is a most serious matter to us, when we are uneasy 
 as to the justice of our resentment or the propriety of any 
 other passion. And, as a rule, the agreement or disagree- 
 ment of the judgments of other people with our own varies in 
 importance for us exactly in proportion to the uncertainty we 
 feel of the propriety or accuracy of our own sentiments or 
 judgments. Hence it is that poets and authors are so much 
 more anxious about public opinion than mathematicians or 
 men of science. The discoveries of the latter, admitting by 
 nature of nearly perfect proof, render the opinion of the 
 public a matter of indifference; but in the fine arts, where 
 excellence can only be determined by a certain nicety of 
 taste, and the decision is more uncertain, the favourable 
 judgments of friends and the public are as delightful as their 
 unfavourable judgments are mortifying'. The sensibility of 
 poets especially is due to this cause; and we may instance 
 the sensibility of Racine, who used to tell his son that the 
 most paltry criticisms had always given him more pain than 
 the highest eulogy had ever given him pleasure : or that of 
 Gray, who was so much hurt by a foolish parody of two of
 
 8o ADAM SMITH. 
 
 his finest ocles^ that he never afterwards attempted anything 
 considerable. 
 
 It may happen that the two principles of desiring* praise 
 and desiring^ prai^eworthiness are blended together, and it 
 must often remain unknown to a man himself, and always to 
 other people, how far be did a praiseworthy action for its own 
 sake, or for the love of praise; how far he desired to deserve, 
 or only to obtain, the approbation of others. There are. very 
 few men who are satisfied with their own consciousness of 
 having- attained those qualities, or performed those actions, 
 which they think praiseworthy in others, and who do not 
 wish their consciousness of praiseworthinessto be corroborated 
 by the actual praise of other men. Some men care more for 
 the actual praise, others for the real praiseworthiness. It is 
 therefore needless to agree with those " splenetic philo- 
 sophers^'' (Mandeville is intended) who impute to the love of 
 praise, or what they call vanity, every action which may be 
 ascribed to a desire of praiseworthiness. 
 
 Frgm this distinction between our desire for praise and our 
 desire for praiseworthiness, Adam Smith arrives at the result, 
 that there are, so to speak, two distinct tribunals of morality. 
 The approbation or disapprobation of mankind is the first 
 source of personal self-approbation or the contrary. But 
 though man has been thus constituted the immediate judge 
 of mankind, he has been made so only in the first instance : 
 '^ and an appeal lies from his sentence to a much higher 
 tribunal, to the tribunal of their own consciences, to that of 
 the supposed impartial and well-informed spectator, to that of 
 the man within the breast, the great judge and arbiter of 
 their conduct.-'^ Two sorts of approbation are thus supposed, 
 that of the o-rdinary spectator, and that of the well-informed 
 one ; or, as it may be otherwise put, of the man without and 
 ihe man within the breast. Whilst the jurisdiction of the
 
 THE AUTHORITY OF CONSCIENCE. 8i 
 
 former is foiinded alto<Tethcr in the desire of actual praise, 
 and the aversion to actual blame, that of the latter is founded 
 altogether in the desire of really possessing those qualities, 
 or performing those actions which we love and admire in 
 other people, and in avoiding those qualities and those 
 actions which, in other people, arouse our hatred or con- 
 tempt. 
 
 If Conscience, then, which may be defined as '^the testi- 
 mony of the supposed impartial spectator of the breast,'^ 
 originates in the way described, whence has it that yt^v^ 
 great influence and authority which belong to it? and how 
 does it happen that it is only by consulting it that we can 
 see what relates to ourselves in its true light, or make any 
 prc-per comparison between our own interests and those of 
 other people ? 
 
 The answer is. By our power of assuming in imagination 
 another situation. It is with the eye of the mind as with 
 the eye of the body. Just as a large landscape seems smaller 
 than the window which looks out on it, and we only learn by 
 habit and experience to judge of the relative magnitude of 
 objects by transporting ourselves in imagination to a different 
 station, from whence we can judge of their real proportions, 
 so it is necessary for the mind to change its position before 
 we can ever regard our own selfish interests in their due 
 relation to the interests of others. We have to view our in- 
 terests and another's, " neither from our own place nor from 
 his, neither with our own eyes nor yet with his, but from the 
 place and with the eyes of a third person, who has no parti- 
 cular connexion with either, and wdio judges with impartiality 
 between us.'' By habit and experience we come to do this 
 so easily, that the mental process is scarcely perceptible to 
 us, by which we correct the natural inequality of our senti- 
 ments. AYe learn both the moral lesson, and the lesson in 
 
 G
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 vision, so thorouglily, as no longer to be sensible that it has 
 been a lesson at all. 
 
 " It is reason, principle, conscience, the inhabitant of the 
 breast, the man within, the great judge and arbiter of our 
 conduct,^' who alone can correct the natural misrepresenta-- 
 tions of self-love, who shows ns the propriety of generosity 
 and the deformity of injustice, the propriety of resigning our 
 own greatest interests for the yet greater interests of others, and 
 the deformity of doing the smallest injury to another in order 
 to obtain the greatest benefit to ourselves. But for this 
 correction of self-love by conscience, the destruction of the 
 empire of China by an earthquake would disturb a man^s 
 eleep less than the loss of his own little finger, and to prevent 
 so paltry a misfortune to himself, he would be willing to 
 sacrifice the lives of a hundred millions of his brethren, pro- 
 vided he had never seen them. It is not the love of our 
 neigiibour, still less the love of mankind, which would ever 
 prompt us to self-sacrifice. It is a stronger love, a more 
 powerful affection, " the love of what is honourable and noble, 
 of the grandeur, and dignity, and superiority of our own 
 characters." 
 
 The sense of duty in its various forms is the result of the 
 commands of conscience, which thus exists within us as the 
 ruHection of external approbation. When the happiness or 
 misery of others depends on our conduct, conscience, or " the 
 man within," immediately calls to us that if we prefer our- 
 selves to them, or the interest of one to the interest of many, 
 we render ourselves the proper object of the contempt and 
 resentment of our fellows. 
 
 The control of our passive feelings, of our natural preference 
 
 . for our ov/n interests and our natural indifference to those of 
 
 others, can only be acquired by a regard to the sentiments 
 
 of the real or supposed spectator of our conduct. This is the
 
 SELF-COMMAND. 83 
 
 discipline ordained by nature for the acquisition of the virtue 
 of self-command as well as of all other virtues. The whole of 
 life is an education in the acquisition of self-command. A 
 child, as soon as it mixes with its equals at school, wishes 
 raturally to gain their favour and avoid their contempt ; and 
 it is taught by a regard to its own safety to moderate its anger 
 and other passions to the degree with which its play- fellows 
 are likely to be pleased. From that time forth, the exercise 
 of discipline over its feelings becomes the practice of its life. 
 
 Only the man who has been thoroughly bred in the great 
 school of self-command, the bustle and business of the world, 
 maintains perfect control over his passive feelings upon all 
 occasions. He has never dared to forget for one moment the 
 judgment likely to be passed by the impartial spectator upon 
 his sentiments and conduct, nor suffered the man within the 
 breast to be absent for one moment from his attention. With 
 the eyes of this great inmate he has been accustomed to 
 regard all that relates to himself. From his having been 
 under the constant necessity of moulding, or trjang to mould, 
 his conduct and feelings in accordance with those of this 
 spectator, the habit has l)ecome perfectly familiar to him; and 
 he almost identifies himself with, he almost becomes himself 
 that impartial spectator ; he hardly ever feels but as that 
 great arbiter of his conduct directs. 
 
 But with most men conscience, which is founded on the 
 approbation of an imaginary spectator, requires often to be 
 aroused by contact with a real one. *' The man within the 
 breast, the abstract and ideal spectator of our sentiments and 
 conduct, requires often to be awakened and put in mind of his 
 duty by the presence of the real spectator." In other words, 
 conscience requires to be kept fresh by contact with the 
 world ; solitude leads us to overrate the good actions we may 
 have done or the injuries we may have suffered, and causes us 
 
 G 2
 
 84 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 to be too much dejected in adversity as well as too much 
 elated in prosperity. 
 
 Nevertheless if the actual spectator is not impartial Hlce 
 the distant one of imagination or reality, the rectitude of our 
 judgments concerning our own conduct is liable to be much 
 perverted ; and this fact accounts lor many anomalies of our 
 moral sentiments. 
 
 Take, for instance, the conduct of two different nations to 
 one another. Neutral nations, the only indifferent and im- 
 partial spectators of their conduct, are so far off as to be almost 
 out of sight. The citizen of either nation pays little regard 
 to the sentiments of foreign countries, but only seeks to 
 obtain the approbation of his own fellow-citizens, which he can 
 never do better than by enraging and offending the enemies 
 they have in common. Thus the partial spectator is at hand, 
 the im})artial one at a distance. Hence the total disregard 
 in the life of nations of the rules of morality in force in 
 private life. " In war and negotiation the laws of justice are 
 very seldom observed. Truth and fair dealing are almost 
 totally disregarded. Treaties are violated ; and the violation, 
 if some advantage is gained by it, sheds scarce any dishonour 
 upon the violator. The ambassador who dupes the minister 
 of a foreign nation is admired and applauded." The same 
 conduct which in private transactions would make a man be- 
 loved and esteemed, inpublic transactions would load him with 
 contempt and detestation. Not only are the laws of nations 
 violated without dishonour, but they are themselves laid down 
 with very little regard to the plainest rules of justice. It is 
 in the most perfect conformity with what are called the laws 
 of nations that the goods of peaceable citizens should be 
 liable to seizure on land and sea, that their lands should be 
 laid waste, their homes burnt, and the}' themselves either 
 murdered or taken into captivity.
 
 PARTY-SPIRIT. 85 
 
 Nor is the conduct of hostile parties, civil or eccclesiastical, 
 more restrained by the power of conscience than that of 
 hostile nations to one another. The laws of faction pay even 
 less regard to the rules of justice than the laws of nations do. 
 Thoug-h it has never been doubted whether faith oug-ht to be 
 kept with public enemies, it has often been furiously debated 
 whether faith ought to be kept with rebels and heretics. Yet 
 rebels and heretics are only those who, when things have 
 come to a certain degree of violence, have the misfortune to 
 belong to the weaker party. The impartial spectator is never 
 at a greater distance than amidst the rage and violence of 
 contending parties. For them it may be said that " such a 
 spectator scarce exists anywhere in the universe. Even to 
 the great judge of the universe they impute all their own 
 prejudices, and often view that Divine Being as animated by 
 all their own vindictive and implacable passions." Thote 
 who might act as the real controllers of such passions are too 
 few to have any influence, being excluded by their own 
 candour from the confidence of either party, and on that 
 account condemned to be the weakest, though they may be 
 the wisest men of their community, lor " a true party man 
 hates and despises candour ; and in reality there is no vice 
 which could so efTectually disqualify him for the trade of a 
 party man as that single virtue." 
 
 But even when the real and impartial spectator is not at a 
 great distance, but close at hand, our own selfish passions 
 may be so strong as entirely to distort the judgment of the 
 " man within the breast. ^^ We endeavour to view our own 
 conduct in the light in which the impartial spectator would 
 view it, both when we are about to act and when we have 
 acted. On both occasions our views are apt to be partial, but 
 they are more especialh^ partial when it is most important 
 that they should be otherwise.
 
 86 ADAAf SMITH, 
 
 Tliis is the explanation of the moral phenomenon of self- 
 deceitj and accounts for the otherwise remarkable fact^ that 
 our conscience in spite of its great authority and the great 
 sanctions by which its voice is enforced, is so often prevented 
 from acting with efficacy. When we are about to act, the 
 eagerness of passion seldom allows us to consider what we are 
 doing with the candour of an indifferent person. Our view 
 of things is discoloured, even when we try to place ourselves 
 in the situation of another and to regard our own interests 
 from his point of view. We are constantly forced back by 
 the fury of our passions to our own position, where everythhig 
 seems magnified and misrepresented by self-love, whilst we 
 catch but momentary glimpses of the view of the impartial 
 spectator. 
 
 When we have acted, we can indeed enter more coolly into 
 the sentiments of the indifferent spectator, and regard our 
 own actions with his impartiality. We are then able to 
 identify ourselves with the ideal man within the breast and 
 view in our own character our own conduct and situation with 
 the severe eyes of the most impartial spectator. But even our 
 judgment is seldom quite candid. It is so disagreeable to 
 think ill of ourselves, that we often purposely turn away our 
 view from those circumstances which might render our judg- 
 ment unfavourable, llather than see our own behaviour in a 
 disagreeable light, we often endeavour to exasperate anew 
 those unjust passions which at first misled us ; we awaken 
 artificially our old hatreds and irritate afresh our almost 
 forgotten resentments ; and we thus persevere in injustice 
 merely because we were unjust, and because we are ashamed 
 and afraid to see that we were so. 
 
 And this partiality of mankind with regard to the propriety 
 of their own conduct, both at the time of action and alter it, 
 is, our author thinks, one of the chief objections to the hypo-
 
 SELF-DECEIT. 87 
 
 thesis of the existence of a moral sense, and consequently au 
 additional argument in favour of his own theory of the pheno- 
 mena of self-approbation. If it was by a peculiar faculty^ lihii 
 the moral sense, that men judged of their own conduct — if 
 they were endowed with a particular power of perception 
 which distinguished the beauty and deformity of passions and 
 affections — surely this faculty would judge with more accuracy 
 concerning their own passions, which are more nearly exposed 
 to their view, than concerning those of other men, which arc 
 necessarily of more distant observation. But it is notorious 
 that men generally judge more justly of others than they ever 
 do about themselves.
 
 88 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THEORY OF MORAL PRINCIPLES. 
 
 Closely connected in Adam Smithes theory with his account 
 of the growth of conscience is his account of the growth of 
 those general moral princij les we find current in the world. 
 lie regards these as a provision of Nature on our behalf, in- 
 tended to counteract the perverting influences of self-love and 
 the fatal weakness of self-deceit. They arise in the following 
 way. 
 
 Continual observations on the conduct of others lead us 
 gradually to form to ourselves certain general rules as to what 
 it is fit and proper to do or to avoid. If some of their actions 
 shock all our natural sentiments, and we hear other people 
 express like detestation of them, we are then satisfied that we 
 view them aright. We resolve therefore never to be guilty of 
 the like offences, nor to make ourselves the objects of the 
 general disapprobation they incur. Thus we arrive at a general 
 rule, that all such actions are to be avoided, as tending to 
 make us odious, contemptible, or punishable. Other actions, 
 on the contrary, call forth our approbation, and the expressions 
 of the same approval by others confirm us in the justice of 
 our opinion. The eagerness of everybody to honour and re- 
 ward them excite in us all those sentiments for which we have 
 by nature the strongest desire — the love, the gratitude, the 
 admiration of mankind. "We thus become ambitious of per-
 
 GENERAL RULES OF MORALITY. 89 
 
 forming the like, and thereby arrive at another general rule, 
 that all such actions are good for us to do. 
 
 These general rules of morality, therefore, are ultimately 
 founded on experience of what, in particular instances, our 
 moral faculties approve of or condemn. They are not moral 
 intuitions, or major premisses of conduct supplied to us by 
 nature. We do not start with a general rule, and approve or 
 disapprove of particular actions according as they conform or 
 not to this general rule, but we form the general rule from 
 experience of the approval or disapproval bestowed on par- 
 ticular actions. At the first sight of an inhuman murder, 
 detestation of the crime would arise, irrespective of a reflec- 
 tion, that one of the most sacred rules of conduct prohibited 
 the taking away another man^s life, that this particular murder 
 was a violation of that rule, and consequently that it was 
 blameworthy. The detestation would arise instantaneously, 
 and antecedent to our formation of any such general nde. 
 The general rule would be formed afterwards upon the detesta- 
 tion we felt at such an action, at the thought of this and every 
 other particular action of the same kind. 
 
 So when we read in history or elsewhere of either generous 
 or base actions, our admiration for the one and our contempt 
 for the other does not arise from the consideration that there 
 are certain general rules which declare all actions of the one 
 kind admirable and all of the other contemptible. Those rules 
 are all formed from our experience of the effects naturally 
 produced on us by all actions of one kind or the other. 
 
 Again, an amiable, a respectable, or a horrible action natu- 
 rally excites for the person who performs them the love, the 
 respect, or the horror of the spectator. The general rules, 
 which determine what actions are or are not the objects of 
 those diflerent sentiments, can only be formed by observinfj 
 what actions severally excite them.
 
 90 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 When once these moral principles, or general ruleSj have 
 been formed, and established by the concurrent voice of all 
 mankind, they are often appealed to as the standards of judg- 
 ment, when we seek to apportion their due degree of praisa or 
 blame to particular actions. From their being cited on all 
 such occasions as the ultimate foundations of what is just and 
 unjust, many eminent authors have been misled, and have 
 drawn up their systems as if they supposed " that the original 
 judgments of mankind, with regard to right and wrong, were 
 formed, like the decisions of a court of judicatory, by con- 
 sidering first the general rule, and then, secondly, whether the 
 particular action under consideration fell properly within its 
 comprehension.''' 
 
 To pass now from the formation of such general rules to 
 their function in practical ethics. They are most useful in 
 correcting the misrepresentations of things which self-love is 
 ever ready to suggest to us. Though founded on experience, 
 they are none the less girt round with a sacred and unim- 
 peachable authority. Take a man inclined to furious resent- 
 ment, and ready to think that the death of his enemy is a 
 small compensation for his provocation. From his observations 
 on the conduct of others he has learned how horrible such 
 revenges always appear, and has formed to himself a general 
 rule, to abstain from them on all occasions. This rule pre- 
 serves its authority with him under his temptation, when he 
 might otherwise believe that his fury was just, and such as 
 every impartial spectator would approve. The reverence for 
 the rule, impressed upon him by past experience, checks the 
 impetuosity of his passion, and helps him to correct the too 
 partial views which self-love might suggest as proper in his 
 situation. Even should he after all give way to his passion, 
 he is terrified, at the moment of so doing, by the thought that 
 he is violating u rule which he has never seen infringed with-
 
 SENSE OF DC/ TV. 91 
 
 out the strongest expressions of disapprobation, or the evil 
 consequences of punishment. 
 
 That sense of duty, that feeling" of the obligatoriness of the 
 rules of morality, which is so important a principle in human 
 life, and the only principle capable of governing the bulk of 
 mankind, is none other than an acquired reverence for these 
 general principles of conduct, arrived at in the manner de- 
 scribed. This acquired reverence often serves as a substitute 
 for the sense of the propriety or impropriety of a particular 
 course of conduct. For many men live through their lives 
 without ever incurring much blame, who yet may never feel 
 the sentiment upon which our approbation of their conduct is 
 founded, but act merely from a regard for what they see are 
 the established rules of behaviour. For instance, a man who 
 has received great benelits from another may feel very litile 
 gratitude in his heart, and yet act in every way as if he did 
 so, without any selfish or blameable motive, but simply from 
 reverence for the established rule of duty. Or a wife, who 
 may not feel any tender regard for her husband, ma}^ also act 
 as if she did, from mere regard to a sense of the duty of such 
 conduct. And though such a friend or such a wife are doubt- 
 less not the best of their kind, they are perhaps the second 
 best, and will be restrained from any decided dereliction from 
 their duty. Though "the coarse clay of which the bulk of 
 mankind are formed, cannot be wrought to such perfection'^ 
 as to act on all occasions with the most delicate propriety, 
 there is scarcely anybody who may not by education, disci- 
 pline, and example, be so impressed with a regard to general 
 rules of conduct, as to act nearly always vith tolerable decency, 
 and to avoid through the whole of his life any cousiderable 
 degree of blame. 
 
 Were it not indeed for this sense of duty, this sacred regard 
 for general rules, there is no one on whose conduct much rdi-
 
 92 ADA3I SMITH. 
 
 ance could be placed. The difference between a man of prin- 
 ciple and a worthless fellow is chiefly the difference between 
 a man who adheres resolutely to his maxims of conduct and 
 the niaia who acts " variously and accidentally as humour, 
 inclination, or interest chance to be uppermost." Even the 
 duties of ordinary politeness, which are not difficult to ob- 
 serve, depend very often for their observance more on regard 
 for the general rule than on the actual feeling" of the moment ; 
 and if these slight duties would, without such regard, be so 
 readily violated, how slight, without a similar regard, would 
 be the observance of the duties of justice, truth, fidelity, and 
 chastity, for the violation of which so many strong motives 
 might exist, and on the tolerable keeping of which the very 
 existence of human society depends ! 
 
 The obligatoriness of the rules of morality being thus first 
 impressed upon us by nature, and afterwards confirmed by 
 reasoning and philosophy, comes to be still further enhanced 
 by the consideration that the said rules are the laws of God, 
 who will reward or punish their observance or violation. 
 
 For whatever theory we may prefer of the origin of our 
 moral faculties, there can be no doubt, Adam Smith argues, 
 but "that they were given us for the direction of our conduct 
 in this life.^^ Our moral faculties " carry along with them 
 the most evident badges of this authority, which denote that 
 they were set up within us to be the supreme arbiters of all 
 our actions, to superintend all our senses, passions, aud appe- 
 tites, and to judge how far each of them was either to be in- 
 dulged or restrained.^' Our moral faculties are not on a level 
 in this respect with the other faculties and appetites of our 
 nature, for no other faculty or principle of action judges of 
 any other. Love, for instance, does not judge of love, nor 
 resentment of resentment. These two passions may be oppo- 
 site to one another, but they do not approve or disapprove of
 
 AUTHORITY OF OUR MORAL FACULTIES. 93 
 
 one another. It belong-s to our moral faculties to judge 
 in this way of the other principles of our nature. What is 
 ao'reeable to our moral faculties is fit, and riglit, and proper 
 to be done ; what is disagreeable to them is the contrary. 
 The sentiments which they approve of are graceful and be- 
 coming; the contrary ungraceful and unbecoming. The very 
 words — right, wrong, fit, improper, graceful, unbecoming — 
 mean only what pleases or displeases our moral faculties." 
 
 Since, then, they " were plainly intended to be the governing 
 principles of human nature, the rules which they prescribe are 
 to be regarded as the commands and laws of the Deity, pro- 
 mulgated by those vicegerents which He has thus set up 
 within us." These "vicegerents of God within us" never 
 fail to punish the violation of the rules of morality by the 
 torments of inward shame and self-condemnation, whilst they 
 always reward obedience to them with tranquillity and self- 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Having thus added the force of a religious sanction to the 
 authority of moral rules, and accounted for the feeling of 
 obligation in morality, from the physical basis of the pain or 
 pleasure of an instinctive antipathy or sympathy, the philo- 
 sopher arrives at the question. How far our actions ought to 
 arise chiefly or entirely from a sense of duty or a regard to 
 general rules, and how far any other sentiment ought to 
 concur and have a principal influence. If a mere regard for 
 duty is the motive of most men, how far may their conduct 
 be regarded as right ? 
 
 The answer to this question depends on two circumstances, 
 which may be considered in succession. 
 
 Fii-st, it depends on the natural agreeableness or deformity 
 of the affection of the mind which prompts us to any action, 
 whether the action should proceed rather from that ad'ection 
 than from a regard to the general rule. Actions to which the
 
 94 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 social or henevolent affections prompt us should proceed as 
 much from the affections or passions themselves as from any 
 regard to the general rules of conduct. To repay a kindness 
 from a cold sense of duty, and from no personal affection to 
 one's benefactor, is scarcely pleasing to the latter. As a father 
 may justly complain of a son, who, though he fail in none 
 of the offices of filial duty, yet manifests no affectionate 
 reverence for his parent, so a son expects from his father some- 
 thing more than the mere performance of the duties of his 
 situation. 
 
 The contrary maxim applies to the malevolent and unsocial 
 passions. If we ought to reward from gratitude and gene- 
 rosity, without any reflections on the propriety of rewarding, 
 we ought always to punish with reluctance, and more from a 
 sense of the propriety of punishing than from a mere dispo- 
 sition to revenge. 
 
 Where the selfish passions are concerned, we should attend 
 to general rules in the pursuit of the lesser objects of private 
 interest, but feel more passion for the objects themselves whem 
 they are of transcendent importance to us. The parsimony, 
 for instance, of a tradesman should not proceed from a desire of 
 the particular threepence he will save by it to-day, nor his 
 attendance in his shop from a passion for the particular 
 tenpence he will gain by it, but from a regard to the general 
 rule which prescribes severe economy as the guiding principle 
 of his life. To be anxious, or to lay a plot to gain or save a 
 single shilling, would degrade him in the eyes of all his neigh- 
 bours. But the more important objects of self-interest should 
 be pursued with more concern for the things themselves and 
 for their own sake ; and a man would justly be regarded as 
 mean-spirited who cared nothing about his election to Par- 
 liament or about the conquest of a province. 
 
 Secondly, it depends upon the exactness or inexactness of
 
 RULES OF JUSTICE. 95 
 
 the g-eneral rules themselves, how far our conduct oug-ht to 
 proceed entirely from a regard to them. 
 
 The general rules of almost all the virtues, which determine 
 what are the duties of prudence, charity, generosity^ gratitude, 
 or friendship, admit of so many moditications and exceptions, 
 that it is hardly possible to regulate our conduct entirely from 
 regard to them. Even the rule of gratitude, plain as it seems 
 to be, that it behoves us to make a return of equal, or, if pos- 
 sible, superior value to the benefit received from another, gives 
 rise to numberless questions, whenever we seek to apply it to 
 particular cases. For instance, if your friend lent you money 
 in your distress, ought you to lend hiit) money in his? and, 
 if so, how Duich ? and when ? and for how long a tim(! ? No 
 definite answer can be given to such questions. And even 
 still more vague are the rules which indicate the duties of 
 friendship, hospitality, humanity, and generosity. 
 
 Justice, indeed, is the only virtue of which the general rules 
 determine exactly every external action required by it. If, 
 for instance, you owe a man ten pounds, justice requires that 
 you should pay him precisely that sum. The whole nature of 
 your action is prescribed and fixed. The most sacred regard, 
 therefore, is due to the rules of justice, and the actions it re- 
 quires are never more properly performed than from a regard 
 to the general rules themselves. In the practice of the other 
 virtues, our conduct should be directed rather by a certain 
 idea of propriety, by a certain taste for a particular kind of 
 behaviour, than by any regard to a precise rule or maxim ; 
 and we should consider more the end and foundation of the 
 rule than the rule itself. But it is otherwise with justice, 
 where we should attend more to the rule itself than to its 
 end. Though the end of the rules of justice is to hinder us 
 from hurting our neighbour, it would still be a crime to 
 violate them, although we might pretend, with some show
 
 96 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 of reason, that this particular violation could do liim no 
 harm. 
 
 The rules of justice, and those of the other virtues, may 
 therefore be compared in this way. The rules of justice are 
 like the rules of grammar, those of the other virtues like the 
 rules laid down Ly critics for the attainment of elegance in 
 composition. Whilst the former are precise and accurate, 
 the latter are vague and indeterminate, and present us rather 
 with a general idea of perfection to be aimed at than any cer- 
 tain directions for acquiring it. As a man may be taught to 
 write grammatically by rule, so perhaps may he be taught to 
 act justly. But as there are no rules which will lead a man 
 infallibly to elegance in composition, so there are none by 
 which we can be taught to act on all occasions with prudence, 
 magnanimity, or beneficence. 
 
 Lastly, in reference to moral principles, may be considered 
 the case of their liability to perversion by a mistaken idea oi 
 them. There may be a most earnest desire £o to act as to 
 deserve ajiprobation, and yet an erroneous conscience or a 
 wrong sense of duty may lead to a course of conduct with 
 which it is impossible for mankind to sympathize. '' False 
 notions of religion are almost the only causes which can occa- 
 sion any very gross perversion of our natural sentiments in 
 this way; and that principle which gives the greatest autho- 
 rity to the rules of duty, is alone capable of distorting them 
 in any considerable degree. In all other cases common 
 sense is sufficient to direct us, if not to the most ex- 
 quisite propriety of conduct, yet to something which is not 
 very far from it ; and, provided we are desirous in earnest to 
 do well, our behaviour will always, upon the whole, be praise- 
 W'Orthy." All men are agreed that the first rule of duty is to 
 obey the will of God, but it is concerning the particular com- 
 mandments imposed by that will that they dilfer so widely;
 
 ERRORS OF CONSCIENCE. 97 
 
 and crimes committed from a sense of religious duty are not 
 reg-arded with the indignation felt for ordinary crimes. The 
 sorrow we feel for Seid and Palmira in Voltaire's play of 
 Mahomet, when they are driven by a sense of religious duty to 
 murder an old man whom they honoured and esteemed, is the 
 «:nmc sorrow that we should feel for all men in a similar way 
 nii.slcd by religion.
 
 98 ADA/>I SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 THE RELATION OF KELIGION TO MORALITY. 
 
 The relation which, in Adam Smith's system, religion bears 
 to ethics has been ah'eady indicated in the last chapter. 
 Although he regards morahty as quite independent of religion, 
 as intelligible and possible without it, religion nevertheless 
 stands out visibly in the background of his theory, and is 
 appealed to as a strong support of virtuous conduct, and as 
 lending additional sanctity to the authority of moral rules. 
 
 These moral rules, though sufficiently sanctioned by the 
 same feelings of human approbation or disapprobation which 
 originally gave rise to them, derive an additional sanction 
 rom natural religion. It was too important for the happiness 
 of mankind, that the natural sense of duty should thus be 
 enforced by the terrors of religion, "for nature to leave it 
 dependent upon the slowness and uncertainty of philosophical 
 researches." 
 
 This identification therefore of the rules of moralit}' with 
 the rules of religion was first impressed upon mankind by 
 nature, and then afterwards confirmed by philosophy. 
 Naturally led as men everywhere are, and were, to ascribe to 
 those heings, which in any country happen to be the objects 
 of religious fear, all their own sentiments and passions, it 
 could not but arise, that as they ascribed to them those 
 passions which do least honour to our own species — such as 
 lust, avarice, envy, or revenge — they should also ascribe to
 
 RELATION OF RELIGION TO MORALITY. 99 
 
 them those qualities which are the great ornaments of 
 humanity — the love of virtue and beneficence, and the hatred 
 of vice and injustice. The injured man would call on Jupiter 
 to witness his wrong-, never doubting but that it would be 
 beheld by him with the same indignation that would actuate 
 the meanest of mankind against it; whilst the man, who did 
 the wrong, transferred to the same omnipresent and irresistible 
 being the resentment he was also conscious of in mankind. 
 "These natural hopes, and fears, and suspicions, were pro- 
 pagated by sympathy, and confirmed by education ; and the 
 gods were universally represented and believed to be the 
 rewarders of humanity and mercy, and the avengers of perfidy 
 and injustice. And thus religion, even in its rudest form, 
 gave a sanction to the ru\'S of morality, long before the age 
 of artificial reasoning and philosophy.'' 
 
 Reasoning, when applied, confirmed the original antici- 
 pations of nature. For from the recognition of the fact, 
 already noticed, that our moral faculties were inteufled to be 
 the governing principles of our nature, it became clear that 
 the rules they foimulated, in compliance with such an in- 
 tention, might be regarded as the laws of the Deit}', who set 
 up those moral faculties as His " vicegerents within us." 
 
 Another consideration confirms this reasoning. As by 
 obeying the rules prescribed to us by our moral faculties, we 
 pursue the most effectual means for promoting- the happiness 
 of mankind, and as the happiness of mankind seems to be the 
 original j)urpose intended by the Author of Nature, it is 
 evident that by obeying the moral rules we in some sense co- 
 operate with the Deity, and advance, as far as is in our 
 power, the plan of Providence. As also by acting otherwise 
 we obstruct in some measure His scheme, we declare ourselves 
 in some measure the enemies of God, so we are naturally 
 encouraged to look lor His favour and reward in the one 
 
 u 2
 
 100 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 case, and to dread His vengeance and punishment in the 
 other. 
 
 Moreover, althoug-h virtue and vice, as far as they can be 
 either rewarded or punished by the sentiments and opinions 
 of mankind, meet even here, according' to the common course 
 of things, with their deserts, we are compelled by the best 
 principles of our nature, by our love of virtue and our 
 abhorrence of vice and injustice, to look to a future life for 
 the rectification of occasional results of virtue or vice which 
 shock all our natural sentiments of justice. The indignation 
 we feel when we see violence and artifice prevail over sincerity 
 and justice, the sorrow we feel for the sufferings of the 
 innocent, the resentment we feel and often cannot satisfy 
 against the oppressor, all prompt us to hope " that the great 
 Author of our nature will Himself execute hereafter, what all 
 the principles wdiich He has given us for the direction of our 
 conduct prompt us to attempt even here ; that He will com- 
 plete the plan which He Himself has thus taught us to begin ; 
 and will, in a life to come, render to every one according to 
 the works which he has performed in this world.''' 
 
 When, therefore, the general rules of morality which deter- 
 mine the merit or demerit of actions come thus to be reorarded, 
 says Adam Smith, as the laws of an all-powerful Being, who 
 watches over our conduct, and who, in a life to come, will 
 reward the observance and punish the breach of them, they 
 necessarily acquire a new sacredness. The sense of propriety, 
 which dictates obedience to the will of the Deity as the 
 supreme rule of our conduct, is confirmed by the strongest 
 motives of self-interest. For it is an idea, well capable of 
 restraining the most headstrong passions, that however much 
 we may escape the observation or the punishment of man- 
 kind, we can never escape the observation nor the punishment 
 of Giod.
 
 CHARACTER OF THE RELIGIOUS MAN. loi 
 
 It is on account of the additional sanction which reh'gion 
 thus confers upon the rules of morality that so great con- 
 fidence is generally placed in the probity of those who seem 
 deeply impressed with a sense of religion. Tliey seem to act 
 under an additional tie to those which regulate the conduct 
 of others. For regard to the propriety of action and to re- 
 putation, regard to the applause of his own breast as well as 
 to that of others, are motives which have the same influence 
 over the religious man as over the man of the world; but 
 the former acts under anot'ier restraint, that of future 
 recompense, and accordingly greater trust is reposed in his 
 conduct. 
 
 Nor is this greater trust unreasonably placed in him. For 
 •' wherever the natural principles of religion are not corrupted 
 by the factious and party zeal of some worthless cabal ; where- 
 ever the first duty which it requires is to fulfd all the 
 obligations of morality; wherever men are not taught to 
 regard frivolous observances as more immediate duties of 
 religion than acts of justice and beneficence; and to imagine, 
 that by sacrifices, and ceremonies, and vain supplications, 
 they can bargain with the Deity for fraud, and perfidy, and 
 violence, the world undoubtedly judges right in this respect, 
 and justly places a double confidence in the rectitude of the 
 religious man's behaviour.'^ 
 
 At the same time Adam Smith resents strongly the doctrine 
 that religious principles are the only laudable motives of 
 action, the doctrine, *' that we ought neither to reward from 
 gratitude nor punish from resentment, that we ought neither 
 to protect the helplessness of our children, nor afford support 
 to the infirmities of our parents, from natural affection ; but 
 that we ought to do all things from the love of the Deity, and 
 from a desire only to render ourselves agreeable to Ilini, and 
 to direct our conduct according to His will.'"* It should not
 
 102 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 be tbe sole motive and principle of our conduct in the per- 
 formance of our various duties that God has commanded us 
 to perform them, though that it should be our ruling- and 
 g-overning- principle is the precept of philosophy and common 
 sense no less than it is of Christianity. 
 
 In the same way that Adam Smith regards religion as an 
 additional sanction to the natural rules of morality, does 
 he regard it as the only effectual consolation in the case of a 
 man unjustly condemned by the world for a crime of which 
 be is innocent. To such an one, that humble philosophy 
 which confines its view to this life can afford but little com- 
 fort. Deprived of everything that could make either life or 
 death respectable, condemned to death and to everlasting 
 infamy, the view of another world, where his innocence will be 
 declared and his virtue rewarded, can alone compensate him 
 for the misery of his situation. 
 
 '^ Our happiness in this life is thus, upon many occasions, 
 dependent upon the humble hope and expectation of a life to 
 come — a hope and expectation deeply rooted in human nature, 
 which can alone support its lofty ideas of its own dignity, can 
 alone illumine the dreary prospect of its continually approach- 
 ing mortality, and maintain its cheerfulness under all the 
 heaviest calamities to which, from the disorders of this life, 
 it may sometimes be exposed. That there is a world to come, 
 
 where exact justice will be done to every man is a 
 
 doctrine, in every respect so venerable, so comfortable to the 
 weakness, so flattering to the grandeur of human nature, that 
 the virtuous man who has the misfortune to doubt of it can- 
 not possibly avoid wishing most earnestly and anxiously to 
 believe it.^' 
 
 This doctrine, Adam Smith thinks, could never have fallen 
 into disrepute, had not a doctrine been asserted of a future 
 distribution of rewards and punishments, at total variance with
 
 FALSE IDEAS OF RELIGION. 103 
 
 all our moral sentiments. The preference of assiduous flattery 
 to merit or service, which is regarded as the greatest reproach 
 even to the weakness of earthly sovereigns, is often ascribed tc 
 divine perfection ; "and the duties of devotion, the public and 
 private worship of the Deity, have been represented, even by 
 men of virtue and abilities, as the sole virtues which can either 
 entitle to reward, or exempt from punishment, in the life to 
 come/' 
 
 There is the same absurdity in the notion, which had even 
 its advocate in a philosopher like Massillon, that one hour 
 or day spent in the mortifications of a monastery has more merit 
 in the eye of God than a whole life spent honourably in 
 the profession of a soldier. Such a doctrine is surely con- 
 trary to all our moral sentiments, and the principles by 
 which we have been taught by nature to regulate our admi- 
 ration or contempt. " It is this spirit, however, which, while 
 it has reserved the celestial regions for monks and friars, or 
 for those whose conduct or conversation resembled those of 
 monks and friars, has condemned to the infernal all the 
 heroes, all the statesmen and lawyers, all the poets and 
 philosophers of former ages ; all those who have invented, 
 improved, or excelled in the arts which contribute to the 
 subsistence, to the conveniency, or to the ornament of life ; 
 all the great protectors, instructors, and benefactors of man- 
 kind; all those to whom our natural sense of praiseworthi- 
 Dess forces us to ascribe the highest merit and the most 
 exalted virtue. Can we wonder that so strange an applica- 
 tion of this most respectable doctrine should sometimes have 
 exposed it to derision and contempt?" 
 
 Although, then, Adam Smith considers that reason corro- 
 borates the teaching of natural religion regarding the ex- 
 istence of God and the life hereafter, he nowhere recognizes 
 any moral obligation in the belief of one or the other; and
 
 104 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 they occupy in liis system a very similar position to that 
 which they occupy in Kant's^ who treats the belief in the 
 existence of God and in immovtalit}'' as Postulates of the 
 Practical Keason, that is to say, as assumptions morally 
 necessary, however incapable of speculative proof. Adam 
 Smith, however, does not approach cither subject at all from 
 the speculative side, but confines himself entirely to the 
 moral basis of both, to the arguments in their favour which 
 the moral phenomena of life afford, such as have been already 
 indicated. 
 
 But besides the argument in fovour of the existence of God 
 derived from our moral sentiments, the only argument he 
 employs is derived, not from the logical inconceivability of 
 a contrary belief, but from the incompatibility of such a con- 
 trary belief with the happiness of the man so believing*. A 
 man of universal benevolence or boundless goodwill can enjoy 
 no solid happiness unless he is convinced that all the inhalji- 
 tants of the universe are under the immediate care of that all- 
 wise Being, who directs all the movements of nature, and who 
 is compelled, by His own unalterable perfections, to maintain 
 in it at all times the greatest possible quantity of happiness. 
 To a man of universal benevolence, ''the very suspicion of a 
 fatherless world must be the most melancholy of all reflections ; 
 from the thought that all the unknown regions of infinite and 
 incomprehensible space may be filled with nothing but endless 
 misery and wretchedness. All the splendour of the highes«t 
 prosperity can never enlighten the gloom with which so dread- 
 ful an idea must necessarily overshadow the imagination ; nor, 
 in a wise and virtuous man, can all the sorrow of the most 
 afflicting adversity ever dry up the joy w-hich necessarily 
 springs from the habitual and thorough conviction of the 
 truth of the contrary system.^' 
 
 It was a well-known doctrine of the Stoic philosophy, that
 
 RESIGNATION. 105 
 
 a man should resign all his wishes and interests wilh perfect 
 confidence to the benevolent wisdom which directs the universe, 
 and should seek his happiness chiefly in the contemplation of 
 the perfection of the universal s^'stem. With this conception 
 of resignation Adam Smith very closely agrees, in his descrip- 
 tion of the sentiments which become the wise and virtuous 
 man with regard to his relation to the great sum of things. 
 Just as he should be willing to sacrifice his own interest to 
 that of his own ordei', and that of his own order again to 
 that of his country, so he shonld be willing to sacrifice all 
 those inferior interests " to the greater interest of the universe, 
 to the interest of that great society of all sensible and intel- 
 ligent beings, of which God Himself is the immediate ad- 
 ministrator and director. If he is deeply impressed with tlie 
 luibitual and thorough conviction that this benevolent and 
 all-wise Being can admit into the sjstem of His government 
 no partial evil which is not necessary for the universal good, 
 he must consider all the misfortunes which may befall him- 
 self, his friends, his society, or his country, as necessarj'' for 
 the prosperity of the universe, and therefore as what he 
 ought not only to submit to with resignation, but as what 
 he himself, if he had known all the connexions and depen- 
 dencies of things, ought sincerely and devoutly to have wished 
 for." 
 
 A wise man should be capable of doing what a good soldier 
 is always ready to do. For the latter, when ordered by his 
 general, will march with alacrity to the forlorn station, knowing 
 that he would not have been sent there but for the safety of 
 the whole army and the success of the war, and he will cheer- 
 fidly sacrifice his own little system to the welfare of a greater. 
 But "no conductor of an army can deserve more unlimited 
 trust, more ardent and zealous aflection, than the great Con- 
 ductor of the universe. In the greatest public as well as 
 private disasters, a wise man ought to consider that he himself,
 
 io6 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 his friends and countrymen, have only been ordered upon the 
 forlorn station of the universe; that had it not been necessary 
 for the good of the whole, they would not have been so ordered ; 
 and that it is their duty, not only with humble resignation 
 to submit to this allotment, but to endeavour to embrace it 
 with alacrity and joy.^* 
 
 To the question, how far a man should seek his highest 
 happiness in the contemplation of the system of the universe ; 
 or, in other words, whether the contemplative or the prac- 
 tical life is the higher and better, Adam Smith replies 
 hesitatingly in favour of the latter. The most sublime object 
 of human contemplation is " the idea of that Divine Being, 
 whose benevolence and wisdom have from all eternity contrived 
 and conducted the immense machine of the universe, so as at 
 all times to produce the greatest possible quantity of hap- 
 piness." A man believed to be chiefly occupied in this sub- 
 lime contemplation seldom fails of the highest veneration ; 
 and even though his life should be altogether contemplative, 
 is often regarded with a sort of religious respect far higher 
 than is generally bestowed on the most useful and active 
 citizen. Mai-cus Antoninus has, perhaps, received more ad- 
 miration for his meditations on this sul)jeet than for all the 
 different transactions of his just and beneficent reign. 
 
 Nevei'theless, the care of the universe not being the concern 
 of man, but only the care of his own happiness, or that of his 
 family, friends, or country, he can never be justified in 
 neglecting the more humble department of affairs because he 
 is engaged in the contemplation of the higher. He must not 
 lay himself open to the charge which was brought against 
 Marcus Antoninus, that whilst he was occupied in contem- 
 plating the prosperity of the universe he neglected that of the 
 Roman empire. " The most sublime speculation of the con- 
 templative philosopher can scarce compensate the neglect of 
 the smallest active duty."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CHAEACTER OF VIllTUE. 
 
 The science of ethics, according to Adam Smith, deals mainly 
 with two principal questions, the first concerning the nature 
 of moral approbation, or the origin of our feelings of right 
 and wrong, and the second concerning the nature of virtue, 
 or the moral elements of which virtue consists. The first 
 question is that to which the answer has already been given ; 
 the second question to which the answer yet remains to be 
 given, is " What is the tone of temper, and tenor of conduct, 
 which constitutes the excellent and praiseworthy character, 
 the character which is the natural object of esteem, honour, 
 and approbation ? " Does virtue consist in benevolence, as 
 some have maintained, or is it but a form of self-love, as 
 others have maintained ; or does it consist in some relation o£ 
 the benevolent and selfish affections to one another ? 
 
 The general answer which Adam Smith makes to this 
 question is, that virtue consists in a certain relation to one 
 another of our selfish and unselfish aflfections, not exclusively 
 in a predominance of either of them. " The man of the most 
 perfect virtue," he says, "the man whom we naturally love and 
 revere the most, is he who joins, to the most perfect command 
 of his own original and selfish feelings, the most exquisite sensi- 
 bility both to the original and sympathetjc feelings of others.'" 
 It is the man who unites the gentler virtues of humanity and 
 sensibility with the severer virtues of self-control and self-denial. 
 " To feel much for others, and little for ourselves, to restrain
 
 io8 ADA3f SMITH. 
 
 onv selfish, and to indulg-e our benevolent affections, consti- 
 tutes the perfection of humanity." 
 
 Consequently any man's charact'^r for virtue must depend 
 upon those two different aspects of his conduct which regard 
 both himself and others ; and a character completely virtuous 
 will consist in a combination of those qualities which have a 
 beneficial effect alike on an individuaFs own happiness as on 
 that of his fellow-men. These qualities are Prudence, Justice 
 and Beneficence ; and ''the man who acts according to the 
 rules of perfect prudence, of strict justice, and of proper 
 benevolence, may be said to be perfectly virtuous/' 
 
 1. The quality of Prudence is that side of a man's character 
 whicli concerns only his own happiness, and it has for its 
 object the care of his perconal health, fortune, rank, and repu- 
 tation. The first lessons in this virtue are taught us " by the 
 voice of nature herself," who directs us by the appetites of 
 hunger and thirst, and by agreeable or disagreeable sensations, 
 to provide for our bodily preservation and health. As we 
 grow older we learri that only by proper care and foresight 
 with respect to our external fortune can we ensure the means 
 of satisfying our natural appetites, and we are further led to 
 a desire of the advantages of fortune by experience that 
 chiefly on their possession or supposed possession depends 
 that credit and rank among our equals which is perhaps the 
 strongest of all our desires. Security therefore of health, 
 fortune, and rank, constitutes the principal object of Prudence. 
 
 This outline of the subject-matter of Prudence, Adam 
 Smith proceeds to fill up with a sketch of the character of the 
 Prudent Man, which modelled, as it appears to be, on 
 Aristotle's delineation of imaginary types of the different 
 virtues, is so characteristic an illustration of our author's style 
 and thought, that it is best presented to the reader in the 
 following extracts from the original : —
 
 THE CHARACTER OF THE PRUDENT MAN. 109 
 
 "The prudent man always studies seriously and earnestly to 
 understand whatever he professes to understand and not 
 merely to persuade other people that he understands it ; and 
 thoug-h his talents may not always be very brilliant^ tliey are 
 always perfectly genuine. He neither endeavours to impose 
 upon you by the cunning devices of an artful impostor, nor 
 by the arrogant airs of an assuming pedant, nor by the con- 
 fident assertions of a superficial and impudent pretender; he 
 is not ostentatious even of the abilities he really possesses. 
 His conversation is simple and modest, and he is averse to all 
 the quaekish arts by which other peo})le so frecpiently thrust 
 themselves into public notice 
 
 " The prudent man is always sincere, and feels horror at the 
 very thought of exjiosing himself to the disgrace which attends 
 upon the detection of falsehood. But though always sincere, 
 he is not always frank and open ; and though he never tells 
 anytliing but the truth, he does not always think himself 
 bound, when not properly called upon, to tell the whole truth. 
 As he is cautious in his actions, so he is reserved in his speech, 
 and never rashly or unnecessarily obtrudes his opinion con- 
 cerning either things or persons. 
 
 *' The prudent man, though not always distinguished by 
 the most exquisite sensiljility, is always very capable of friend- 
 ship. But his friendship is not that ardent and passionate 
 but too often transitory affection which appears so delicious 
 to the generosity of youth and inexperience. It is a sedate, 
 but steady and faithful attachment to a few w^ell-chosen com- 
 panions ; in the choice of whom he is not guided by the giddy 
 admiration of shining accomplishments, but by the sober 
 esteem of modesty, discretion, and good conduct. But though 
 capable of friendship, he is not always much disposed to 
 general sociality. He rarely frequents, and more rarely 
 figures in, those convivial societies which are distinguished lor
 
 no ADAM SMITH. 
 
 the jollity and gaiety of their conversation. Their way of 
 life mi<^ht too often interfere with the rei»ularity of his tem- 
 perance, might interrupt the steadiness of his industry, or break 
 in upon the strictness of his frugality. 
 
 " But though his conversation may not always be very 
 sprightly or diverting, it is always perfectly inoffensive. He 
 hates the thought of being guilty of any petulance or rude- 
 ness ; he never assumes impertinently over anybody, and 
 upon all occasions is willing to place himself rather below than 
 above his equals. Both in his conduct and conversation he is 
 an exact observer of decency, and respects with an almost 
 religious scrupulosity all the established decorums and cere- 
 monials of society 
 
 " The man who lives within his income is naturally con- 
 tented with his situation, which by continual though small 
 accumulations is growing better and better every day. He is 
 enabled gradually to relax both in the rigour of his parsimonv 
 and in the severity of his application ; . . . He has no 
 anxiety to change so comfortable a situation, and does not go 
 in cpiest of new enterprises and adventures which might 
 endanger, but could not well increase, the secure tranquillity 
 which he actually enjoys. If he enters into any new projects, 
 they are likely to be well concerted and well prepared. He 
 can never be hurried or driven into them by any necessit}', 
 but has always time and leisure to deliberate soberly and 
 coolly concerning what are likely to be their consequences. 
 
 " The prudent man is not willing to subject himself to any 
 responsibility which his duty does not impose upon him. He 
 is not a bustler in business where he has no concern ; is not a 
 meddler in other people^s affairs ; is not a professed counsellor 
 or adviser, who obtrudes his advice where nobody is asking it ; 
 he confines himself as much as his duty will j^ermitto his own 
 affairs, and has no taste for that foolish importa-uce which
 
 THE CHARACTER OF VIRTUE. in 
 
 many people wish to derive from appearing to have some 
 inflnence in the management of those of other people; he is 
 averse to enter into any party dispntes, hates faction, and is 
 not always very forward to listen to the voice even of noble 
 and great ambition. AVhen distinctly called npon he will not 
 decline the service of his eonntry ; but he will not cabal in 
 order to force himself into it, and would be much better 
 pleased that the public business were well managed by some 
 other person than that he himself should have the trouble and 
 incur the responsibility of managing it. In the bottom of his 
 heart he would prefer the undisturbed enjoyment of secure 
 tranquillity, not onl}' to all the vain splendour of successful 
 amhition, but to the real and solid glory of performing the 
 greatest and most magnanimous actions." 
 
 Such is Adam Smithy's account of the character of the 
 Prudent !Man, a character which he himself admits commands 
 ralluT a cold esteem than any very ardent love or admiration. 
 lie distinguishes it from Ihat higher form of prudence whiih 
 belongs to the great general^ statesman, or legislator, and which 
 is the application of wise and judicious conduct to greater and 
 nobler purposes than the mere objects of personal interest. 
 This superior prudence necessarily supposes the utmost per- 
 fection of all the intellectual and all the moral viriues ; it is 
 the most perfect wisdom combined with the most perfect 
 virtue ; it is the best head joined to the best heart. 
 
 2. Justice and Benevolence — the disposition either to refrain 
 from injuring our neighbour, or else to benefit him — are the 
 two qualities of a virtuous character which affect the happi- 
 ness of otiier people. A sacred and religious regard not to 
 hurt or disturb the happiness of others, even in cases where 
 no law can protect them, constitutes the character of the 
 jieifectly innocent and just man, and is a character which can 
 scarcely fail to be accompanied by many other virtues, such
 
 112 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 as great feeling- for others, great humanity, and great benevo- 
 lence. But whilst benevolence is a positive moral factor, 
 justice is only a negative one; benevolence, therefore, requires 
 the greater consideration of the two. 
 
 3. Benevolence comprises all the good offices which we owe 
 to our family, our friends, our country, and our fellow- 
 creatures. This is the order in which the world is recom- 
 mended to our beneficent affections by Nature, who has 
 strictly proportioned the strength of our benevolence to the 
 degi'ee in which it is necessary or likely to be useful. 
 
 Thus every man is first and piincipally recommended to 
 his own care, being better able to take care oF himself than 
 of any other person. After himself, the members of his own 
 family, those who usually live in the same house with him — 
 his parents, children, or brothers and sisters — are naturally the 
 objects of his warmest afl'ections. The earliest friendships 
 are those among brothers and sisters, whoso power for giving- 
 pleasure or pain to one another renders their good agreement 
 so much the more necessary for the happiness of the family. 
 The sympathy between more distant relations, beings less 
 necessary, is proportionately weaker. 
 
 Here, again, may be noticed the influence of custom over 
 our moral sentiments. Affection is really habitual sympathy; 
 and, from our general experience that the state of habitual 
 sympathy in which near relations stand to one another pro- 
 duces a certain affection between them, we expect always to 
 find such affection, and are shocked when we fail to do so. 
 Hence the general rule is established, from a great number of 
 instances, that persons related to one another in a certain 
 degree ought to be affected towards one another in a certain 
 manner, and that the highest impropriety exists in the absence 
 of any such affection between them. 
 
 This disposition to accommodate and assimilate our senti-
 
 DEGREES OF FRIENDSHIP. 113 
 
 ments and principles to those of persons we live with or see 
 often — a disposition which arises from the obvious convenience 
 of such a general agreement — leads us to expect to find friend- 
 ship subsisting between colleagues in office, partners in trade, 
 or even between persons living in the same neighbourhood. 
 There are certain small good offices which are universally 
 regarded as due to a neighbour in preference to any other 
 person ; and a certain friendliness is expected of neighbours, 
 from the mere fact of the sympathy naturally associated with 
 living in the same locality. 
 
 But these sort of attachments, which the Romans expressed 
 by the word necessitndo, as if to denote that they arose from 
 the necessity of the situation, are inferior to those friendshijjs 
 which are founded iiot merely on a sympathy, rendered 
 habitual for the sake of convenience, but on a natural sym- 
 pathy and approbation of a man's good conduct. Such 
 friendship can subsist only among the good. " jNIen of virtue 
 only can feel that entire confidence in the conduct and be- 
 haviour of one another, which can at all times assure them that 
 they can never either offend or be offended by one another. 
 Vice is always capricious, virtue only is regular and orderly. 
 The attachment which is founded upon the love of virtue, as 
 it is certainly of all attachments the most virtuous, so it is 
 likewise the happiest, as well as the most permanent and 
 secure. Such friendships need not be confined to a single 
 person, but may safely embrace all the wise and virtuous 
 with whom we have been long and intimately acquainted, 
 and upon whose wisdom and virtue we can, upon that account, 
 entirely depend.''^ 
 
 And the same principles which direct the order of our 
 benevolent affections towards individuals, likewise direct their 
 order towards societies, recommending to them before all 
 others those to w hich they can be of most importance. Oar 
 
 I
 
 IH ADAM SMITH. 
 
 native countiy is the largest society ujdoii whicli our good or 
 bad conduct can have much influence. It is tha,t to which 
 alone our good-will can be directed with effect. Accordingly, 
 it is by nature most strongly recommended to us, as compre- 
 hending not only our own personal safety and prosperity, but 
 that of our children, our parents, our relations, and friends. 
 It is thus endeared to us by all our private benevolent, as well 
 as by our selfish affections. Hence its prosperity and glory 
 seem to reflect some sort of honour upon ourselves, and "when 
 we compare it with other societies of the same kind, we are 
 proud of its superiority, and mortifled, in some degree, if it 
 appears in any respect below them.'" 
 
 But it is necessary to distinguish the love of our own 
 country from a foolish dislike to every other one. " The love 
 of our own nation often disposes us to view, with the most 
 malignant jealousy and envy, the prosperity and aggrandize- 
 ment of any other neighbouring nation. Independent and 
 neighbouring nations, having no common superior to decide 
 their disputes, all live in continual dread and suspicion of one 
 another. Each sovereign, expecting little justice from his 
 neighbours, is disposed to treat them with as little as he 
 expects from them. The regard for the laws of nations, or 
 for those rules which independent states profess or pretend to 
 think themselves bound to observe in their dealings with one 
 another, is often very little more than mere pretence and pro- 
 fession. From the smallest interest, upon the slightest 
 provocation, we see those rules every day either evaded or 
 directly violated without shame or remorse. Each nation 
 foresees, or imagines it foresees, its own subjugation in the 
 increasing power and aggrandizement of any of its neigh- 
 bours; and the mean principle of national prejudice is often 
 founded on the noble one of the love of our own country. 
 . , , . France and England may each of them h-ive souiy
 
 FA TRIOTISMAND NA TIONAL PREJUDICE. 115 
 
 reason to dread tlie increase of the naval and military power 
 of the other; but for either of them to envy the internal 
 happiness and prosperity of the other, the cultivation of its 
 lands, the advancement of its manufactures, the increase of 
 its commerce, the security and number of its ports and har- 
 bours, its proficiency in all the liberal arts and sciences, is 
 surely beneath the dignity of two such great nations. These 
 are the real improvements of the world we live in. Mankind 
 are benefited, human nature is ennobled by them. In such 
 improvements each nation ought not only to endeavour itself 
 to excel, but, from the love of mankind, to promote, instead 
 of obstructing, the excellence of its neighbours. These are 
 all proper objects of national emulation, not of national 
 prejudice or envy." 
 
 This passage is of interest as coming from the future author 
 of the Wealth of Nations, the future founder of the doctrine of 
 free trade; and of historical interest, as reflecting cultivated 
 opinion at a time when England was just in the middle of the 
 Seven years' war, is the remark that the most extensive 
 public benevolence is that of the statesmen who project or 
 form alliances between neighbouring or not very distant 
 nations, "for the preservation either of what is called the 
 balance of power, or of the general peace and tranquillity of 
 the states within the circle of their negotiations." 
 
 But the ordinary love of our country involves two things : 
 a certain reverence for the form of government actually 
 established, and an earnest desire to render the condition of 
 our fellow-citizens as safe, respectable, and happy, as possible. 
 Tt is only in times of public discontent and faction that these 
 two principles may draw different ways, and lead to doubt 
 whether a change in the constitution might not be most con- 
 ducive to the general happiness. In such times, the leaders 
 of the discontented party often propose " to new-model the 
 
 I 2
 
 lie ADAM SMITH. 
 
 constitution^ and to alter, in some of its most essential parts, 
 that system of g-overnmcnt under which the subjects of a great 
 empire have enjoyed perhaps peace, security, and even glory, 
 during the course of several centuries together/' And it may 
 require the highest effort of political wisdom to determine 
 when a real patriot ought to support and try to re-establish 
 the authority of the old system, and when he ought to give 
 way to the more daring, but often dangerous, 6j)irit of 
 innovation. 
 
 Nothing, indeed, is more fatal to the good order of society 
 than the policy of "a man of system/' who is so enamoured 
 of his own ideal plan of government as to be unable to suffer 
 the smallest deviation from any part of it, and who insists 
 upon establishing, and establishing' all at once, and in spite of 
 all opposition, whatever his idea may seem to require. Such 
 a man erects his own judgment into the supreme standard of 
 right and wrong, and fancies himself the only wise and 
 worthy man in the commonwealth. "It is upon this account 
 that of all political speculators sovereign princes are by far 
 the most dangerous. This arrogance is perfectly familiar to 
 them. They entertain no doubt of the immense superiority 
 of their own judgment .... and consider the state as made 
 for themselves, not themselves for the state.'' 
 
 It is otiierwise with the real patrijt, with the man whose 
 public sj^irit is prompted altogether by humanit}^ and bene- 
 volence. He " will respect the established powers and privi- 
 leges even of individuals, and still more those of the great 
 orders and societies into which the state is divided. Though 
 lie should consider some of them as in some measure abusive, 
 he will content himself with moderating, what he often cannot 
 anniliilute without great violence. AYhen he cannot concjuer 
 the rooted prejudices of the people by reason and persuasion, 
 he will not atten)pt to subdue them by forcCj but will
 
 THE VIRTUE OF SELF-COMMAND. 117 
 
 velig-iously observe what by Cicero is justly called the divine 
 maxim of Plato, never to use violence to his country, no more 
 than to his parents. He will accommodate; as well as he can, 
 his public arrangements to the confirmed habits and prejudices 
 of the people; and will remedy, as well as he can, the incon- 
 veniences which may flow from the want of those regulations 
 which the people are adverse to submit to. When he cannot 
 establish the right, he will not disdain to ameliorate the 
 wrong; but, like Solon, where he cannot establish the best 
 system of laws, he will endeavour to establish the best that 
 the people can bear.''' 
 
 But although Prudence, Justice, and Benevolence comprise 
 all the qualities and actions which go to make up the highest 
 Virtue, another quality, that of Self-Command, is also neces- 
 sary, in order that we may not be misled by our own passions 
 to violate the rules of tlie other three virtues. The most 
 perfect knowledge, unless supported by the most per- 
 fect self-command, will not of itself enable us to do our 
 duty. 
 
 The two sets of passions which it is necessary to command 
 are those which, like fear and anger, it is difficult to control 
 even for a moment, or those which, like the love of ease, 
 pleasure, applause, or other selfish gratifications, may be 
 restrained indeed often for a moment, but often prevail in the 
 long run, by reason of their continual solicitations. The 
 command of the first set of passions constitutes what the 
 ancient moralists denominated fortitude, or strength of mind; 
 that of the other set what they called temperance, decency, 
 moderation. 
 
 Self-command therefore is a union of the qualities of forti- 
 tude and temperance; and independently of the beauty it 
 derives from utility, as enabling us to act according to the 
 dictates of prudence, justice, and benevolence, it has a beautv
 
 I IS ADAM SMITH. 
 
 of its own, and deserves for its own sake alone some degree of 
 our admiration and esteem. 
 
 For self-command is not only itself a great virtue, but it is 
 the chief source of the lustre of all the other virtues. Thus 
 the character of the most exalted wisdom and virtue is that of 
 a man who acts with the greatest coolness in extreme dangers 
 and difficulties, who observes religiously the sacred rules of 
 justice, in spite of the temptation by his strongest interests or 
 by the grossest injuries to violate them, and who suffers not 
 the benevolence of his temper to be diimped by the ingratitude 
 of its objects. 
 
 The fiist quality in the character of self-command is 
 Courage, or the restraint of the passion of fear. The command 
 of fear is more admirable than that of anger. The exertion 
 displayed by a man, who in persecution or danger suffers no 
 word or gesture to escape him, which does not perfectly accord 
 with the feelings of the most indifferent spectator, commands 
 a high degree of admiration. Had Socrates been suffered to 
 die quietly in his bed, even his glory as a philosopher might 
 never have attained that dazzling splendour which has ever 
 been attached to him. Courage even causes some degree of 
 regard to be paid to the greatest criminals who die with firm- 
 ness ; and the freedom from the fear of death, the great fear 
 of all, is that which ennobles the profession of a soldier, and 
 bestows upon it a rank and dignity superior to that of every 
 other profession. It is for this reason that some sort of 
 esteem is attached to characters, however v>"orthless, who have 
 conducted with success a great warlike exploit, though under- 
 taken contrary to every principle of justice, and carried on 
 with no regard to humanity. 
 
 The command of the passion of anger, though it has no 
 special name like that of the passion of fear, merits on many 
 occasions much admiration. But whilst courage is always
 
 TEMPERANCE, 1 19 
 
 admired irrespective of its motive, our approval of tlie com- 
 mand of ang-er depends on our sense of its dig-uity and 
 propriety. Our whole sense of the beauty of the Philippics 
 of Demosthenes or of the Catiline orations of Cicero is derived 
 from the propriety with which a just indignation is expressed 
 in them. This just indignation is nothing but anger re- 
 strained to that degree with which the impartial spectator can 
 sympathize. It is because a blustering" and noisy anger 
 interests the spectator less for the angry man than for the 
 person with whom he is angry that the nobleness of pardoning 
 so olten appears superior to the most perfect propriety of 
 resentment. But the fact that the restraint of anger may be 
 due to the presence of fear accounts for the less general 
 admiration that is paid to the former than is often paid to the 
 latter. The indulgence of anger seems to show a sort of 
 courage and superiority to fear, and for that reason it is some- 
 times an object of vanity, whilst the indulgence of fear is 
 never an object of a similar ostentation. 
 
 The next quality in Self-Command is Temperance, or the 
 command of those loss violent passions which appeal to our 
 love of ease or pleasure. The command of these passions can 
 seldom, like the command of anger or feai', be directed to any 
 bad end. Temperance and moderation, which include such 
 virtues as industry, frugalit}^ or chastity, are always amia]>le; 
 but inasmuch as their exercise requires a gentler though 
 steadier exertion than is necessary for the restraint of anger 
 or fear, the beauty and grace which belong to them are less 
 dazzling, though none the less pleasing, than the qualities 
 which attend the more splendid actions of the hero, the states- 
 man, or the legislator. 
 
 It has already been observed that the point of pi'opriety, or 
 degree of any passion with which an impartial spectator can 
 appro ve, is diDTercntly situated in different passions, in some
 
 120 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 eases lying nearer to the excess, and in others nearer to 
 the defect. But it remains to be noticed, " that the passions 
 which the spectator is most disposed to sympathize with, 
 and in which, upon that account, the point of propriety may 
 be said to stand hig-h, are those of which the immediate feel- 
 ing cr sensation is more or less agreeable to the person 
 principally concerned; and that, on the contrary, the passions 
 which the spectator is least disposed to sympathize with, 
 and in which, upon that account, the point of propriety may 
 be said to stand low, are those of which the immediate 
 feeling or sensation is more or less disagreeable or even 
 painful to the person principally concerned/' 
 
 For instance, the disposition to the social aflTections, to 
 humanity, kindness, natural affection, or friendship, being 
 always agreeable to the person who feels them, meets with 
 more sympathy in its excess than in its defect. Though we 
 blame a disposition, that is too ready and indiscriminate in 
 its kindness, we regard it with pity rather than with the 
 dislike wliich we feel towards a person who is defective in 
 kindness, or chai'acterized by what is called hardness of heart. 
 On the other hand, the disposition to the unsocial affections — 
 to anger, hatred, envy, or malice — as it is more agreeable to 
 the person principally concerned in defect than in excess, so 
 any defect of those passions approaches nearer to the point of 
 propriety approved of by the spectator than any excess in 
 their manifestation. Their excess renders a man wretched 
 and miserable in his own mind, and hence their defect is more 
 pleasing to others. Nevertheless even the defect may be ex- 
 cessive. The want of proper indignation is a most essential 
 defect in any character, if it prevents a man from protecting 
 either himself or his friends from insult or injustice. Or 
 again, that defect of or freedom from envy, which, founded on 
 indolence or good nature, or on an aversion to trouble or op-
 
 SENSIBILITY. 12 1 
 
 position, suffers others readily to rise far above us, as it gene- 
 rally leads to much regret and repentance afterwards, so it 
 often gives place ''to a most malignant envy in the end, and 
 to a hatred of that superiority which those who have once 
 attained it may often become really entitled to, by the very 
 circumstance of having attained it. In order to live com- 
 fortably in the world, it is upon all occasions as necessary to 
 defend our dignity and rank as it is to defend our lives or our 
 fortune." 
 
 Sensibility to our own personal dangers, injuries, or mis- 
 fortunes, is more apt to offend by its excess than by its defect, 
 and here again the same rule prevails, for a fretful or timid 
 disposition renders a man miserable to himself as well as 
 offensive to others. A calm temper, which contentedly lays 
 its account to suffer somewhat from both the natural and 
 moral evils infesting the world, is a blessing to the man him- 
 self, and gives ease and security to all his fellows. But such 
 defect of senpibility may also be excessive, for the man who 
 feels little for his own misfortunes or injuries will always feel 
 less for those of other people, and be less disposed to relieve or 
 resent them. 
 
 A defect of sensibility to the pleasures and amusements of 
 life is more offensive than the excess, for both to the person 
 primarily affected and to the spectator a strong propensity to 
 joy is more pleasing than the contrary. This propensity is 
 only blamed when its indulgence is unsuited to time or place, 
 to the age or the situation of a person, and when it leads to 
 the neglect of his interest or duty. But it is rather in such 
 cases the weakness of the sense of propriety and duty that is 
 blamed than the strength of the propensity to joy. 
 
 Self-esteem also is more agreeable in excess than in defect, 
 for it is so much more pleasant to think highly tl;an it is to 
 think meanly of ourselves. And just as we appl}' two different
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 standards to our judgement about others, so in self-estimation 
 we apply to ourselves both the standard of absolute perfection 
 and tliat of the ordinary approximation thereto. To these 
 two standards the same man often bestows a different degree 
 of attention at different times. In every man there exists an 
 idea of exact propriety and perfection ; an idea gradually 
 formed from observations of himself and others, " the slow, 
 gradual, and progressive work of the great demigod within 
 the breast, the great judge and arbiter of conduct." It is an 
 idea wliich, in every man, is more or less accurately drawn, 
 more or less justly coloured and. designed, according to the 
 delicacy and care with which the observations have been 
 made. 
 
 Eut it is the wise and virtuous man who, having made these 
 observations with the utmost care, directs his conduct chiefly 
 by this ideal standard, and. esteems himself rightly in conse- 
 quence. He feels the imperfect success of all his best endea- 
 vours to assimilate his conduct to that archetype of perfection, 
 and remembers with humiliation the frequency of his aber- 
 ration from the exact rules of perfect propriety. And so con- 
 scious is he of his imperfection that, even when he judges 
 himself by the second standard of ordinary rectitude, he is 
 unable to regard with contempt the still greater imperfection 
 of other people. Thus his character is owe of real modesty, 
 for he combines, with a very moderate estimate of his own 
 merit, a full sense of the merit of others. 
 
 The difference indeed between such a man and the ordinary 
 man is the difference between the great ai'tist who judges of 
 his own works by his conception of ideal perfection and the 
 lesser artist who judges of his work merely by comi)arison 
 with the work of other artists. The poet Boileau, wlio used 
 to say that no great man was ever completely satisfied with 
 his own work, being- once assured by Santeuil, a writer of
 
 PRIDE AND VANITY. 123 
 
 Latin verses, that lie, for his own part, was completely satisfied 
 with his own, replied that he was certainly the only great man 
 who ever was so. Yet how much harder of attainment is the 
 ideal perfection in conduct than it is in art ! For the artist 
 may work nndisturhed, and in fidl possession of all his skill 
 and experience. But ^' the wise man must support the pro- 
 priety of his own conduct in health and in sickness, in success 
 and in disappointment, in the hour of fatigue and drowsy 
 indolence, as well as in that of the most wakened attention. 
 The most sudden and unexpected assaults of difficulty and 
 distress must never surprise him. The injustice of other 
 people must never provoke him to injustice. The violence of 
 faction must never confound him. All the hardships and 
 hazards of war must never either dishearten or appal him,^' 
 
 Pride and vanity are two distinct kinds of that excessive 
 self-estimation which we blame in persons who enjoy no dis- 
 tinguished superiority over the common level of mankind ; 
 and though the proud man is often vain, and the vain man 
 proud, the two characters are easily distinguishable. 
 
 The proud man is sincere, and in the bottom of his heart 
 convinced of his own superiority. He wishes you to view 
 him in no other light than that in wdiich, when he places him- 
 self in your situation, he really views himself. He only de- 
 mands justice. He deigns not to explain the grounds of his 
 pretensions; he disdains to court esteem, and even affects to 
 despise it. He is too well contented with himself to think 
 that his character requires any amendment. He does not 
 always feel at ease in the company of his equals, and still less 
 in that of his superiors. Unable as he is to lay down his 
 lofty pretensions, and overawed by such superiority, he has 
 recourse to humbler company, for which he has little respect, 
 and in which he finds little pleasure — that of his inferiors or 
 dependants. If he visits his superiors, it is to show that be
 
 124 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 is entitled to live with them more than from any real satisfac- 
 tion he derives from them. He never flatters, and is often 
 S3arcely civil to anybody. He seldom stoops to falsehood; 
 but if he doeSj it is to lower other people, and to detract from 
 that superiority which he thinks unjustly attached to them. 
 
 The Vain man is different in nearly all these points. He is 
 not sincerely convinced of the superiority he claims. Seeing 
 the respect which is paid to rank and fortune, talents or virtues, 
 he seeks to usurp such respect; and by his dress and mode of 
 living proclaims a higher rank and fortune than really belong 
 to him. He is delighted with viewing himself, not in the 
 light in which we should view him if we knew all that he 
 knows, but in that in which he imagines that he has induced 
 us to view him. Unlike the proud man, he courts the com- 
 pany of his superiors, enjoying the reflected splendour of 
 associating with them. " He haunts the courts of kings and 
 the levees of ministers, .... he is fond of being admitted to 
 the tables of the great, and still more fond of magnifying to 
 other people the familiarity with which he is honoured there; 
 he associates himself as miieh as he can with fashionable people, 
 with those who are supposed to direct the public opinion — 
 Avith the witty, with the learned, with the popular ; and he 
 shuns the company of his best friends, whenever the very 
 uncertain current of public favour happens to run in any respect 
 against them.-'' Nevertheless, " vanity is almost always a 
 sprightly and gay, and very often a good-natured passion.'' 
 Even the falsehoods of the vain man are all innocent false- 
 hoods, meant to raise himself, not to lower other people. He 
 does not, like the proud man, think, his character above im- 
 provement ; but, in his desire of the esteem and admiration 
 of others, is actuated by a real motive to noble exertion. 
 Vanity is frequently only a premature attempt to usurp glory 
 before it is due; and so "the great secret of education is to
 
 DIFFERENT VIRTUES COMPARED. 125 
 
 direct vanity to proper objects/' by discouraging pretensions 
 to trivial accomplisbnieutSj but not those to more important 
 ones. 
 
 Both the prond and the vain man are constantly dissatisfied ; 
 the one being tormented by what he considers the unjust 
 superiority of other people, and the other dreading the shame 
 of the detection of his groundless pretensions. So that here 
 again the rule holds good ; and that degree of self-estimation 
 which contributes most to the happiness and contentment of 
 the person himself, is likewise that which most commends 
 itself to the approbation of the impartial spectator. 
 
 It remains, then, to draw some concluding comparisons 
 between the virtues of Self-command and the three primary 
 virtues — Prudence, Justice, and Benevolence. 
 
 The virtues of self-command are almost entirely recommended 
 to us by the sense of propriety, by regard to the sentiments 
 of the supposed impartial spectjitor; whilst the virtues of 
 prudence, justice and benevolence, are chiefly recommended to 
 us by concern for our own happiness or the happiness of other 
 j)eople. They are recommended to us primarily by our selfish 
 or benevolent aflections, independently of any regard as to 
 what are or ought to be the sentiments of other people. Such 
 regard indeed comes later to enforce their practice ; and no 
 man ever trod steadily in their paths whose conduct was not 
 principally directed by a regard to the sentiments of the sup- 
 posed impartial spectator, the great inmate of the breast and 
 arbiter of our conduct. But regard for the sentiments of 
 other people constitutes the very foundation of the virtues of 
 self-restraint, and is the sole principle that can moderate our 
 passions to that degree where the spectator will give his 
 approval. 
 
 Another difTerence is, that while regard to the beneficial 
 effects of prudence, justice, and benevolence recommend them
 
 126 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 originally to the agent and afterwards to the spectator^ no such 
 sense of their utility adds itself to our sense of the propriety 
 of the virtues of self-command. Tlieir effects may be agree- 
 able or the contrary, without afT'ecting the approbation be- 
 stowed on them. Valour displayed in the cause of justice is 
 loved and admired, but in the cause of injustice it is still re- 
 garded with some approbation. In that, as iu all the other 
 virtues of self-command, it is the greatness and steadiness of the 
 exertion, and the strong sense of propriety necessaiy to main- 
 tain that exertion, which is the source of admiration. The 
 effects are olten only too little regarded.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 ADAM smith's THLORY OP HAPPINESS. 
 
 Altiiot^oii Adam Smith never distinctly faces the proLlem of 
 the supreme end of life, nor asks himself whether virtue and 
 morality are merely means to the attainment of happiness, or 
 whether they are ends in themselves irrespective of happiness, 
 he leaves little doubt that happiness really occupies in his sys- 
 tem very much the same place that it does in the svstems ot 
 professed utilitarians. But he disting'uishes between happi- 
 ness as the natural result of virtue and happiness as the end 
 or purpose of virtue; and, by satisfying" himself that it is the 
 natural result, he saves himself from considering- whether, 
 if it were not, virtue would remain in and for itself desirable 
 as an ^d. 
 
 "The happiness of mankind," he says, ''as well as of all 
 other rational creatures, seems to have been the original 
 purpose of the Author of Nature,'' no other end appearing 
 to be worthy of His supreme wisdom and beneficence. The 
 fact therefore that we most effectually promote the happi- 
 ness of mankind, and so to some extent promote the great 
 plan of Providence by acting according to the dictates of our 
 moral faculties, is an additional reason, though not the primary 
 one, for our doing so; and, conversely, the tendency of an 
 opposite course of conduct to obstruct the scheme thus ordained 
 for the haj ])iness of the world, is an additional reason for ab- 
 staining from it. Accordingly, the ultimate sanction of our
 
 128 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 compliance with the rules for the promotion of human wel- 
 fare — the ultimate sanction^ that is^ of virtue — lies in a system 
 of future rewards and punishments, by which our co-operation 
 with the divine plan may be enfoicod. 
 
 To this extent, therefore, Adam Smith seems to agree with 
 the utilitarianism of Paley in making- the happiness of another 
 world the ultimate motive for virtuous action in this. But 
 although he thus appeals to religion as enforcing the sense of 
 duty, he is far from regarding morality as only valuable for 
 that reason. He protests against the theory that 'Sve ought 
 not to be grateful from gratitude, we ought not to be chari- 
 table from humanity, we ought not to be public-spirited from 
 the love of our country, nor generous and just from the 
 love of mankind, and that our sole motive in performing 
 these duties should be a sense that God has commanded 
 them/' 
 
 Hence when he speaks of the perfection and happiness of 
 mankind as "the great end^' aimed at by nature, it is clear 
 that he intends the temporal and general welfare of the world, 
 and that, though the happiness of another may be a motive to 
 virtue, it is not so much the end and object of it as happiness 
 in this. It is in this life, also, that virtue and happiness, vice 
 and misery, are closely associated ; and nature may be regarded 
 as having purposely bestowed on every virtue and vice that 
 precise reward or punishment which is best fitted cither to 
 encourage the one or to restrain the other. Thus the reward 
 attached to industry and prudence — namely, success in every 
 sort of business — is precisely that which is best calculated to 
 encourage those virtues, just as in the same way and for the 
 same reason there is attached to the practice of truth, justice, 
 and humanit}^, the confidence and esteem of those we live with. 
 It requires indeed a very extraordinary concurrence of cir- 
 cumstances to defeat those natural and temporal rewards or
 
 VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS. 129 
 
 punishments for virtue or vicC;, which have been fixed in the 
 sentiments and opinions of mankind, 
 
 Adam Smith does not then re<j;'ard virtue entirely as its own 
 endj irrespective of its recompenee in the increase of our hap- 
 piness. Still less, however, does he acknowledg-e the cardinal 
 doctrine of the utilitarian school, that virtue derives its whole 
 and sole merit from its conduciveness to the general welfare of 
 humanity. He takes up a sort of middle ground between the 
 Epicurean theory, that virtue is good as a means to happiness 
 as the end, and the theory of the Stoics, that virtue is an end 
 in itself independently of happiness. The practice of virtue, 
 he would have said, is a means to happiness, and has been so 
 related to it by nature ; but it has, nevertheless, prior claims 
 of its own, quite apart Irom all reference to its effect upon our 
 welfare. 
 
 Tliere is little attempt on the part of our author at any 
 scientific analysis of human happiness like that attem])ted by 
 Aristotle, and in modern times by Hutcheson or Bentham. 
 But if we take Aristotle's classification of the three principal 
 classes of lives as indicative of the three main ideas of human 
 happiness current in the world, namely, the life of pleasure, 
 the life of ambition, and the life of contemplation and know- 
 ledge, there is no doubt under which of these three types 
 Adam Smith would have sought the nearest approximation to 
 earthly felicity. 
 
 The life of [deasure, or that ideal of life which seeks happiness 
 in the gratification of sensual enjoyment, he rejects rather by im- 
 plication than otherwise, by not treating it as worthy of discus- 
 sion at all. But his rejection of the life of ambition is of more 
 interest, both because he constantly recurs to it, and because 
 it seems to express his own general philosoph.y of life and to 
 contain the key to his own personal character. 
 
 Happiness, he says, consists in tranquillity and enjoyment.
 
 130 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 Without tranquillity there can no be enjoyment^ and with 
 tranquillity there is scarcely anything but may prove a source 
 of pleasure. Hence the Stoics were so far right, in that they 
 maintained that as between one permanent situation and 
 another there was but little difference with regard to real 
 happiness ; and the great source of all human misery is our 
 constant tendency to overrate the difference between such 
 situations. Thus avarice overrates the difference between 
 poverty and wealth, ambition that between public and private 
 life, vain-glory that between obscurity and renown. '' In ease 
 of body and peace of mind all th(? difTei'cnt ranks of life are 
 nearly on a level, and the beggar who suns himself by the 
 side of the highway possesses that security which kings are 
 fighting for." 
 
 The story, therefore, of what the favourite of the king of 
 Epirus said to his master admits of general application to men in 
 all the situations of human life. "When Pyrrhus had recounted 
 all his intended conquests, Cincas asked him, ^'What does 
 your majesty propose to do then?'' " I propose,^^ said the 
 king, " to enjoy myself with my friends, and endeavour to be 
 good company over a bottle." And the answer was, " What 
 hinders your majesty from doing so now ? " 
 
 In the highest situation we can fancy, the pleasures from 
 which we propose to derive our real happiness are generally the 
 same as those which, in a humbler station, we have at all 
 times at hand and in our power. The poor man^s son, " whom 
 heaven in its anger has visited with ambition," will go 
 through, in the first month of his pursuit of the pleasures of 
 wealth, more fatigue of body and uneasiness of mind than he 
 could have suffered through the whole of his life for the want 
 of them. "Exnmine the records of history, recollect what 
 has happened in the circle of 3^our own experience, consider with 
 attention what has been the conduct of almost all the greatly
 
 CONTENTMENT. 131 
 
 unfortunate, either in private or public life, whom you have 
 cither read of or heard of or remember, and you will find that 
 the misfortunes of by far the greater part of them have arisen 
 from their not knowing* when they were well, when it was 
 proper for them to sit still and be contented." 
 
 Pope taug-ht the same lesson better and more briefly in his 
 well-known lines : — 
 
 Hope springs eternal in the human breast j 
 Man never is, but always to be, blest. 
 
 And Horace asked Mecsenas the same question long ago : — 
 
 Qui fit, Mecsenas, ut nemo quam sibi sortem 
 Sen ratio dederit, seu forsobjecerit ilia 
 Contentus vivat? 
 
 " What can be added,'' asks Adam Smith, " to the happi- 
 ness of the man who is in health, who is out of debt, and has 
 a clear conscience ? " And this condition, he maintains, is the 
 ordinary condition of the greater part of mankind. Would 
 you live freely, fearlessly, and independently, there is one sure 
 way: "Never enter the place from whence so few have been 
 able to return, never come within the circle of ambition." The 
 love of public admiration admits of no rival nor successor in 
 the breast, and all other pleasures sicken by comparison with 
 it. It is very true, as was said by Rochefoucault, " Love is 
 commonly succeeded by ambition, but ambition is hardly ever 
 succeeded by love.'" 
 
 The following passage is perhaps the best illustration of our 
 philosopher's view of the ol)jects of ambition. " Power and 
 riches," he saj^s, " are enormous and operose machines con- 
 trived to produce a few trifling conveniences to the body, con- 
 sisting of springs the most nice and delicate, which must be 
 kept in order with the most anxious attention, and which, in 
 spite of all our care, are ready every moment to burst into 
 
 K 2
 
 132 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 pieces, and to crush in their ruins their unfortunate possessor. 
 They are immense fabrics which it requires the labour of a life 
 to raise, which threaten every moment to overwhehn the per- 
 son that dwells in them, and which, while they stand, Ihouijh 
 they may save him from some smaller inconveniencies, can 
 protect him from none of the severer inclemencies of the season. 
 They keep off the summer shower but not the winter storm, 
 but leave him as much, and sometimes more, exposed than 
 before to anxiety, to fear, and to sorrow ; to diseases, to danger, 
 and to death." 
 
 The question then arises. Why do we all so generally flee 
 from poverty and {>ursue riches ? The answer is (and it is one 
 of the happiest applications of the author's favourite theory, 
 though it equally solves the problem of the great absence of 
 contentment), from regard to the common sentiments of mnn- 
 kind ; from the greater sympathy or admiration naturally felt 
 for the rich than for the poor. For being as we are more 
 disposed to sympathize with joy than with sorrow, we more 
 naturally enter into the agreeable emotions which accompany 
 the possessor of riches, whilst we fail of much real fellow-feeling 
 for the distress and misery of poverty. Sympathy with 
 poverty is a sym2)athy of pity ; sj'mpathy with wealth a 
 sympathy of admiration, a sympathy altogether more pleasur- 
 able than the other. The situation of wealth most sets a man 
 in the view of general sympathy and attention ; and it is the 
 consciousness of this sympathetic admiration which riches 
 bring with them, not the ease or pleasure they afford, that makes 
 their possession so ardently desired. It is the opposite con- 
 sciousness which makes all the misery of poverty ; the feeling 
 of being placed away from the sight or notice of mankind, the 
 feeling that a man's misery is also disagreeable to others. 
 Hence it is that for every calamity or injury which affects the 
 rich, the spectator feels ten times more compassion than when
 
 SYMPATHY WITH THE RICH. 
 
 OJ 
 
 tl.o same things happen to other people ; thus all the innocent 
 llooJ that was shed in the civil wars provoked less indignation 
 than the death of Charles I.; and hence the misfortunes of 
 kings,, like those of lovers, are the only real proper subjects of 
 tragedy, for in spite of reason and experience our imagination 
 attaches to these two conditions of life a happiness superior to 
 that of any other. 
 
 But this disposition of mankind to sympathize with all the 
 passions of the rich and powerful has also its utility as the 
 source of the distinction of ranks and of the peace and order 
 of society. It is not the case, as was taught by Epicurus, that 
 the tendency of riches and power to procure pleasure makes 
 them desirable, and that the tendency to produce pain is the 
 great evil of poverty. Riches are desirable for the general 
 sympathy which goes along with them, and the absence of 
 such sympathy is the evil of their want. Still less is the 
 reverence of men for their superiors founded on any selfisli 
 expectations of benefit from their good-will. It arises rather 
 from a simple admiration of the advantages of their position, 
 and is primarily a disinterested sentiment. From a natural 
 sympathetic admiration of their happiness, we desire to serve 
 them for their own sakes, and require no other recompense 
 than the vanit\^ and honour of obliging them. 
 
 It would equally be a mistake to suppose that the common 
 deference paid to the rich is founded on any regard for the 
 general utility of such submission, or for the support it gives 
 to the maintenance of social order, for even when it may be 
 most beneficial to oppose them, such opposition is most reluct- 
 antly made. The tendency to reverence them is so natural, 
 that even when a people are brought to desire the punishment 
 of their kings, the sorrow felt for the mortification of a 
 monarch is ever ready to revive former sentiments of loyalty. 
 The death of Charles I. brought about the Ivestoration, and
 
 134 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 sympathy for James II. when he was caught by the populace 
 making his escape on board ship, went very nigh to preventing 
 the Revolution. 
 
 But although this disposition to sympathize with the rich 
 is conducive to the good order of society, Adam Smith admits 
 that it to a certain extent tends to corrupt moral sentiments. 
 For in equal degrees of merit, the rich and great receive more 
 honour than the poor and humble; and if it be '^ scarce 
 agreeable to good morals or even to good language, to say 
 that mere wealth and greatness, abstracted from merit and 
 virtue, deserve our respect,''^ it is certain that they almost 
 always obtain it, and that they are therefore pursued as its 
 natural objects. 
 
 Hence it comes about, that " the external graces, the frivo- 
 lous accomplishments, of that impertinent and ibolish thing"^ 
 called a man of fashion, are commonly more admired than the 
 solid and masculine virtues of a warrior, a statesman, a 
 ])hilosopher or a legislator." Not only the dress, and lan- 
 guage, and behaviour of the rich and great become favourable, 
 but their vices and follies too, vain men giving themselves 
 airs of a fashionable profligacy of which in their hearts they 
 do not approve and of which perhaps they are not guilty. 
 For " there are hypocrites of wealth and gi'eatness as well as 
 of religion and virtue ; and a vain man is i\\)i to pretend to be 
 what he is not in one way, as a cunning man is in the 
 other.^''
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 ADAM SMITH'S THEORY OF FINAL CAUSES IN ETHICS. 
 
 I'o 
 
 In our sympathy for rank and wealth, as explained in the 
 last chapter, Adam Smith sees plainly the " benevolent wisdom 
 of nature." " Nature/^ he says^ " has wisely judged that the 
 distinction of ranks, the peace and order of society, would rest 
 more securely upon the plain and palpable difference of birth 
 and fortune than upon the invisible and often uncertain differ- 
 ence of wisdom and virtue." And in discussing- the pervert- 
 ing influence of chance upon our moral sentiments, he finds 
 the same justification for our admiration of Success. For 
 equally with our admiration for mere wealth it is necessary ibr 
 the slability of society. We are thereby taught to submit 
 more easily to our superiors, and to regard with reverence, or 
 a kind of respectful affection, that fortunate violence we can 
 no longer resist. By this admiration for success, we acquiesce 
 with less reluctance in the government which an irresistible 
 force often imposes on us, and submit no less easily to an 
 Attila or a Tamerlane than to a Caesar or an Alexander. 
 
 To a certain extent this conception of Nature, and recog- 
 nition of design, entered into the general thought of the time. 
 Even Hume said, " It is wisely ordained by nature that 
 private connexions should commonly prevail over universal 
 views and considerations ; otherwise our affections and actions 
 would be dissipated and lost for want of a proper limited 
 object." But Adam Smith more particularly adopted this
 
 17,6 ' ADAM SMITH. 
 
 view of things, and the assumption of Final Causes as explana- 
 tory of moral phenomena is one of the most striking features 
 in his philosophy; nor does he ever weary of identifying the 
 actual facts or results of morality with the actual intention of 
 nature. It seems as if the shadow of Mandeville had rested 
 over his pen, and that he often wrote rather as the advocate 
 of a sytem of nature which he believed to have been falsely 
 impugned than as merely the analyst of our moral sentiments. 
 Writing too as he describes himself to have done, with an im- 
 mense landscape of lawns and woods and mountains before his 
 window, it is perhaps not surprising, that his observation of 
 the physical world should have pleasantly affected his con- 
 templation of the moral one, and blessed him with that opti- 
 mistic and genial view of things, which forms so agreeable a 
 feature in his Theory. 
 
 The extent to which Adam Smith applies his doctrine of 
 final causes in ethics is so remarkable, that it is worth while 
 to notice the most striking examples of it. 
 
 Our propensity to sympathize with joy being, as has been 
 said, much stronger than our propensity to sympathize with 
 sorrow, we more fully sympathize with our friends in their 
 joys than in their sorrows. It is a fact, that however con- 
 scious we may be of the justice of another's lamentation, and 
 however much we may reproach ourselves for our want of 
 sensibility, our sympathy with the afflictions of our friends 
 generally vanishes when we leave their presence. Such is the 
 fact, the final cause of which is thus stated : " Nature, it 
 seems, when she loaded us with our own sorrows, thought that 
 they were enough, and therefore did not command us to take 
 any further share in those of others than was necessary to 
 prompt us to relieve them.''' 
 
 Another purpose of nature may be traced in the fact, that 
 as expressions of kindness and grq^itude attract our sympathy,
 
 FINAL CAUSE OF RESENTMENT. 137 
 
 those of hatred and resentment repel it. The hoarse discord- 
 ant voice of ang-cr inspires us naturally with fear and aversion, 
 and the symptoms of the disagreeable affections never excite, 
 but often disturb, our sympathy. For, man having been 
 formed for society, " it was, it seems, the intention of nature 
 that those rougher and more unamiable emotions which drive 
 men from one another should be less easily and more rarely 
 communicated." 
 
 Our natural tendency to sympathize with the resentment of 
 another has also its purpose. For instance, in tlie case of a 
 murder, we feel for the murdered man the same resentment 
 which he would feel, were he conscious himself, and into 
 which we so far enter as to carry it out as his avengers ; and 
 thus, with regard to the most dreadful of all crimes, has 
 nature, antecedent to all rellections on the utility of punish- 
 ment, stamped indelibly on the human heart an immediate 
 and instinctive approbation of the sacred and necessary law of 
 retaliation. 
 
 llesentraent within moderation is defensible as one of the 
 original passions of our nature, and is the counterpart of 
 gratitude. Nature " does not seem to have dealt so unkindly 
 with us as to have endowed us with any principle which is 
 wholly and in every respect evil." The very existence of 
 society depending as it does on the punishment of unprovoked 
 malice, man has not been left to his own reason, to discover 
 that the punishment of bad actions is the proper means to pre- 
 serve society, but he has been endowed with an immediate and 
 instinctive approbation of that very application of punishment 
 which is so necessary. In tiiis case, as in so many others, the 
 economy of nature is the same, in endowing mankind with an 
 instinctive desire for the means necessary for the attainment 
 of one of her favourite ends. As the self-preservation of the 
 individual is an end, lor which man has not been left to the
 
 138 AD A AT SMITH. 
 
 exercise of his own reason to find out the means, but has been 
 impelled to the means themselves, namely, food and drink, by 
 the immediate instincts of bungler and thirst, so the preser- 
 vation of society is an end, to the means to whicli man is 
 directly impelled by an instinctive desire for the punishment 
 of bad actions. 
 
 The same explanation is then applied to the fact, tLat bene- 
 ficence, or the doing" good to others, as less necessary to society 
 than justice, or the not doing- evil to others, is not enforced 
 by equally strong natural sanctions. Society is conceivable 
 without the practice of beneficence, but not without that of 
 justice. Without justice, society, " the peculiar and darling 
 care of nature," must in a moment crumble to atoms. It is 
 the main pillar which upholds the whole edifice, whilst bene- 
 ficence is only the ornament which embellishes it. For this 
 reason stronger motives were necessary to enforce justice than 
 to enforce beneficence. Therefore nature " implanted in the 
 human breast that consciousness of ill-desert, those terrors of 
 merited punishment which attend its violation, as the great 
 safeguard of the association of mankind, to protect the weak, 
 to curb the violent, and to chastise the guilty." 
 
 In the influence of fortune over our moral sentiments, in 
 our disposition to attach less praise where by accident a good 
 intention has stopped short of real action, to feel less resent- 
 ment where a criminal design has stopped short of fulfilment, 
 and to feel a stronger sense of the merit or demerit of actions 
 when they chance to occasion extraordinary but unintended 
 pleasure or pain, Adam Smith again traces the working of a 
 final cause, and sees in this irregularity of our sentiments an 
 intention on the part of Nature to promote the happiness of 
 our species. For were resentment as vividly kindled by a 
 mere design to injure as by an actual injury, were bad wishes 
 held equivalent to bad conduct, mere thoughts and feelings
 
 LIMITS OF FORTITUDE. 139 
 
 would become the objects of punishment, and a state of uni- 
 versal suspicion would allow of no security even for the most 
 innocent. If, on the other hand, the mere wish to serve 
 another were regarded as equivalent to the actual service, an 
 indolent benevolence might take the place of active well- 
 doing, to the detriment of those ends which are the purpose of 
 man's existence. In the same way, man is taught, by that 
 mere animal resentment which arises naturally against every 
 injury, howsoever accidental, to respect the well-being of his 
 fellows, and, by a fallacious sense of guilt, to dread injuring 
 them by accident only less than he dreads to do so by 
 design. 
 
 Let us take next the manifestation of fortitude under mis- 
 fortune. A man's self approbation under such circumstances 
 is exactly proportioned to the degree of self-command necessary 
 to obtain it; or, in other words, to the degree in which he can 
 assume with regard to himself the feelings of the impartial and 
 iuditferent spectator. Thus a man who speaks and acts the 
 moment after his leg has been shot off by a cannon-ball with 
 his usual coolness, feels, as a reflex of the applause of the 
 indilferent spectator, an -amount of self-approbation exactly 
 proportioned to the self-command he exhibits. And thus 
 Nature exactly apportions her reward to the virtue of a man's 
 behaviour. But it is nevertheless not fitting that the reward 
 which Nature thus bestows on firmness of conduct should 
 entirely compensate him for the sufferings which her laws 
 indict on him. For, if it did so, a man could have no motive 
 from self-interest for avoiding accidents which cannot but 
 diminish his utility both to himself and society. Nature 
 therefore, " from her parental care of both, meant that he 
 should anxiousl}' avoid all such accidents." 
 
 This is a good illustration of the difficulties of this kind of 
 reasoning in general. It will be easily seen that it raises
 
 140 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 more doubts than it solves. If there really is this parental 
 care on the part of Nature for mankind, why are her measures 
 incomplete ? If the reward she bestows on fortitude did 
 entirely compensate for the misfortunes it contends with, 
 would not all the evil of them be destroyed ? And mig'ht not 
 Nature, with her parental care, have made laws which could 
 not be violated, rather than make laws whose observance 
 needs the protection of misfortune? It does not solve the 
 problem of moral evil, to show here and there beneficial results; 
 it only makes the difficulty the greater. Where there is so 
 much good, why should there be any evil ? 
 
 To this question Adam Smith attempts no answer, or thinks 
 the problem solved by the discovery of some good side to 
 everything evil. His whole system is based on the theory 
 that the -works of Nature " seem all intended to promote hap- 
 piness and guard against misery." Against those '' whining 
 and melancholy moralists/' who reproach us for being happy 
 in the midst of all the misery of the world, he replies, not only 
 that if we take the whole world on an average, there will be 
 for every man in pain or misery twenty in prosperity and jo}^, 
 and that we have no more reason to weep with the one than 
 to rejoice with the twenty, but also that, if we were so con- 
 stituted as to feel distress for the evil we do not see, it could 
 serve no other purpose than to increase misery twofold. This 
 is true enough ; but it is another thfng to argue from the fact 
 to the purpose, and to say that it has been wisely ordained by 
 Nature that we should not feel interested in the fortune of 
 those whom we can neither serve nor hurt. For it is to men 
 whose symj)athies have been wider than the avernge that all 
 the diminution of the world^s misery has been due; and it is 
 fair, if we must argue about Nature at all, to say that had she 
 endowed men generally with wider sympathies than she has 
 done, the misery in the world might have been still more
 
 DIS TRIE UTION OF WE A LTH. 141 
 
 reduced than it has been, and the sum-total of happiness pro- 
 portionately g-reater. 
 
 Similar thoughts arise with respect to the following- passage, 
 wherein Adam Smith contends, in words that seem a fore- 
 taste of the ireaHh of Nations, that Nature leads us inten- 
 tionally, by an illusion of the imagination, to the pursuit of 
 riches. " It is well that Nature imposes upon us in this 
 manner. It is this deception which rouses and keeps in con- 
 tinual motion the industry of mankind. It is this which first 
 prompted them to cultivate the ground, to build houses, to 
 found cities and commonwealths, and to invent and improve 
 all the sciences and arts, which ennoble and embellish human 
 life ; which, have entirely changed the whole face of the globe, 
 have turned the rude forests of nature into agreeable and 
 fertile plains, and made the trackless and barren ocean a new 
 fund of subsistence, and the great high road of communication 
 
 to the different nations of the earth It is to no 
 
 purpose that the proud and unfeeling landlord views his 
 extensive fields, and, without a thought for the wants of his 
 brethren, in imagination consumes himself the whole harvest 
 
 that grows upon them The capacity of his stomach 
 
 bears no proportion to the immensity of his desires, and will 
 receive no more than that of the meanest peasant.' The rest 
 he is obliged to distribute among those who prepare, in the 
 nicest manner, that little which he himself makes use of, 
 among those who fit up the palace in which this little is to be 
 consumed, among those who provide and keep in order all the 
 different baubles and trinkets which are employed in the 
 economy of greatness ; all of whom thus derive from his 
 luxury and caprice that share of the necessaries of life which 
 they would in vain have expected from his humanity or his 
 justice. The produce of the soil maintains at all times nearly 
 Cf. Ilor. Sat. i. 45-6.
 
 142 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 that number of inhabitants which it is capable of maintaining 
 The rich only select from the heap what is most precious and 
 agreeable. They consume little more than the poor ; and in 
 spite of their natural selfishness aud rapacity, though they 
 mean only their own conveniency, though the sole end which 
 they propose from the labours of all the thousands whom they 
 employ be the gratification of their own vain and insatiable 
 desires, they divide with the poor the produce of all tbeif 
 improvements. They are led bv an invisible hand to mate 
 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 "When Providence 
 
 divided the earth among a few lordly masters, it neither 
 forgot nor abandoned those who seemed to have been left out 
 in the partition. These last, too, enjoy their share of all that 
 it produces. In what constitutes the real happiness of human 
 life, they are in no respect inferior to those who world seem 
 so much above them." 
 
 Adam Smith applies the same argument to the condition 
 of children. Nature, he maintains, has for the wisest pur- 
 poses rendered parental tenderness in all or most men much 
 stronger than filial affection. For the continuance of the 
 species depends upon the former, not upon the latter; and 
 whilst the existence and preservation of a child depends alto- 
 gether on the care of its parents, the existence of the parents 
 is quite independent of the child. In the Decalogue, though 
 we are commanded to honour our fathers and mothers, there 
 is no mention of love for our children, Nature having suffi- 
 ciently provided for that. " In the eye of Natuie, it would 
 seem, a child is a more important object than an old man, 
 and excites a much more lively as well as a more universal 
 sympathy. '^ Thus, again, with regard to the excessive 
 credulity of children, and their disposition to believe whatever 
 they are told, '^ nature seems to have judged it necessarv for
 
 LOVE OF COUNTRY. 
 
 tlioii- prescrvntion that they should, for some time at least, put 
 imj)li(_'it confidence in those to whom the care of their child- 
 hood, and of the earliest and most necessary parts of their 
 education, is entrusted."'' 
 
 The love of our country, again, is by nature endeared to 
 lis, not only by all our selfish, but by f.ll our private bene- 
 volent affections; for in its welfare is comprehended our own, 
 and that of all our friends and relations. AVe do not therefore 
 love our country merelj' as a part of the great society of man- 
 kind, but for its own sake, and independently of other con- 
 siderations. ''That wih^dom which contrived the svstem of 
 human affecticns, as well as that of ever}' other part of nature, 
 seems to have judged that the interest of the great society of 
 mankind would be best promoted by directing the principal 
 attention of each individual to that particular portion of it 
 which was most within the sphere both of bis abilities and of 
 his understanding.^^ 
 
 To sum up our author's application of his theory to his 
 general scheme of ethics. INfan, having been intended by 
 nature for society, was fitted by her for that situati' n. 
 Hence she endowed him with an original desire to please, and 
 an original aversion to offend, his brethren. By teaching 
 him to. feel pleasure in their favourable, and pain in their un- 
 favourable regards, she laid, in the reward of their approba- 
 tion, or the punishment of their disapproval, the foundation 
 of human ethics. In the respect wdiich she has taught him 
 to feel for their jiidgment and sentiments, she has raised in 
 his mind a sense of Duty, and girt her laws for his conduct 
 with the sanction of obligatory morality. And so hap])ily 
 has she adjusted the sentiments of approbation and disappro- 
 bation to the advantage both of the individual and of society, 
 that it is precisely those qualities which are useful o'* advan- 
 tageous to the individual himself, or to others, wnicn are 
 always accounted virtuous or the contrary.
 
 144 ADA AT SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ADAM smith's theory OF UTILITY. 
 
 The influence which Hume's philosophj^ exercised over that of 
 Adam Smith has ah'eady been noticed with respect to the 
 fundamental facts of sympathy, and the part played by them 
 in the formation of our moral sentiments. But it is chiefly 
 with respect to the position of Utility in moral philosophy 
 that Adam Smith's theory is affected by Hume's celebrated 
 Inquhy concerning i/ie Principles of Morals. Not only are 
 all his speculations coloured by considerations of utility, but 
 he devotes a special division of his book to the "Effect of 
 Utility upon the Sentiment of Approbation." 
 
 In Adam Smith's theory, the tendency of any affection to 
 produce beneficial or hurtful results is only one part of the 
 phenomenon of moral approbation, constituting^ our sense of 
 merit or demerit, while the other part consists in our per- 
 ception of the propriety or impropriety of the affection to the 
 object which excites it. And as the sense of the merit or 
 demerit of any action or conduct is much stronger than our 
 sense of the propriety or impropriety of affections ; stimu- 
 lating- us, not merely to a passive feeling- of approbation or 
 the contrary, but to a desire to confer actual reward or punish- 
 ment on the agent, it is evident that the greater part cf 
 moral approbation consists in the perception of utility of 
 tendency. 
 
 So fafj Adam Smith agrees with the utilitarian theory
 
 RELATION OF UTILITY TO VIRTUE. 145 
 
 but he refuses altogether to assent to the doctrine, that the 
 perception of the utility of virtue is its primary recommenda- 
 tion, or that a sense of the evil results of vice is the origin of 
 our hatred against it. It is true that the tendency of virtue 
 to promote, and of vice to disturb the order of society, is to 
 reflect a very great beauty on the one, and a very great 
 deformity on the other. But both the beauty and the de- 
 formity are additional to an already existent beauty and 
 deformity, and a beauty and deformity inherent in the objects 
 themselves. Human society may be compared to "an im- 
 mense machine, whose regular and harmonious movements 
 produce a thousand agreeable effects. As in any other 
 beautiful and noble machine that was the production of 
 human art, whatever tended to render its movements more 
 smooth and easy, would derive a beauty from this effect ; and 
 on the contrary, whatever tended to obstruct them, would 
 displease upon that account; so virtue, which is, as it were, 
 the fine polish to the wheels of society, necessarily pleases ; 
 while vice, like the vile rust, which makes them jar and grate 
 upon one another, is as necessarily offensive.''^ 
 
 According to Hume, the whole approbation of virtue may 
 be resolved into the perception of beauty which results from 
 the appearance of its utility, no qualities of the mind being 
 ever approved of as virtuous, or disapproved of as vicious, but 
 such as are either useful or agreeable to the person himself, oi* 
 to others, or else have a contrary tendency. Adam Smith 
 fully admits the fact, that the characters of men may be fitted 
 either to promote or to disturb the happiness both of the 
 individual himself and of the society to which he belongs^ and 
 that there is a certain analogy between our approbation of a 
 useful machine and a useful course of conduct. The character of 
 prudence, equity, activity, and resolution, holds out the pro- 
 spect of prosperity and satisfaction both to the person himself 
 
 L
 
 146 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 and to every one connected with him ; whilst the rash, inso- 
 lent, slothful, or efleminate character, portends rain to the 
 individual, and misfcrtuno' to all who have anything to do 
 with him. In the former character there is all the beauty 
 which can belong to the most perfect machine ever invented 
 for promoting the most agreeable purpose; in the other there 
 is all the deformity of an awkward and clumsy contrivance. 
 
 But this perception of beauty in virtue, or of deformity in 
 vice, though it enhances and enlivens our feelings with regard 
 to both, is not the first or principal source of our approbation 
 of the one, or of our dislike for the other. 
 
 " For, in the first place, it seems impossible that the appro- 
 bation of virtue should be a sentiment of the same kind with 
 that by which we approve of a convenient and well-contrived 
 building ; or, that we should have no other reason for 
 praising a man than that for which we commend a chest of 
 drawers/' 
 
 "And, secondly, it will be found, upon examination, that 
 the usefulness of any disposition of mind is seldom the first 
 ground of our approbation ; and that the sentiment of appro- 
 bation always involves in it a sense of propriety quite distinct 
 from the perception of utility." 
 
 For instance, superior reason and understanding is a quality 
 most useful to ourselves, as enabling us to discern the remote 
 consequences of our actions, and to foresee the advantage or 
 disadvantage likely to result from them ; but it is a quality 
 originally approved of as just and right, and accurate, and 
 not merely as useful or advantageous. Self-command, also, 
 is a virtue we quite as much approve of under the aspect of 
 propriety, as under that of utility. It is the correspondence 
 of the agent's sentiments with our own, that is the source of 
 our approbation of them ; and it is only because his pleasure 
 a week or a year hence is just as interesting or indifferent to
 
 APPROBATION OF PROPRIETY. 147 
 
 us, as spectators, as the pleasure that tempts him at this mo- 
 ment, that we approve of his sacrifice of present to future 
 enjoyment. AVe approve of his acting- as if the remote object 
 interested him as much as the future one, because then his 
 affections correspond exactly with our own, and we recognize 
 the perfect propriety of his conduct.. 
 
 With respect again to such qualities which are most useful 
 to others — as humanity, justice, generosity, and public spirit — 
 the esteem and approbation paid to them depends in the same 
 way on the concord between the affections of the agent and 
 those of the spectator. The propriety of an act of generosity, 
 as when a man sacrifices some great interest of his own to 
 that of a friend or a superior, or prefers some other person to 
 himself, lies not in the consideration of the good effect of such 
 an action on society at large, but in the agreement of the 
 individual's point of view with that of the impartial spectator. 
 Thus, if a man gives up his own claims to an office which had 
 been a great object of his ambition, because he imagines that 
 another man's services are better entitled to it, or if he ex- 
 poses his life to defend that of a friend which he considers of 
 more importance, it is because he considers the point of view 
 of disinterested persons, who would prefer that other man or 
 friend to himself, that his conduct seems clothed with that 
 appearance of propriety which constitutes the approbation 
 bestowed on it. It is the accommodation of the feelings of the 
 individual to those of the impartial bystander, which is the 
 source of the admiration bestowed on a soldier, who throws 
 away his life to defend that of his officer, and who deserves 
 and wins applause, not from any feeling of concern for his 
 officer, but from the adjustment of his own feelings to those 
 of every one else who consider his life as nothing when 
 compared with that of his superior. 
 
 So with regard to public spirit, the first source of ou/ 
 
 L %
 
 I4S ADAM SMITH. 
 
 admiration of it is not founded so much on a sense of its 
 utility as upon the great and exalted propriety of the actions 
 to which it prompts. Take^ for instance, the case of Brutus, 
 leading his own sons to capital punishment for their con- 
 spiracy against the rising liberty of Rome. Naturally he 
 ought to have felt much more for the death of his own sons 
 than for all that Rome could have suffered from the want of 
 the example. Bat he viewed them, not as a father, but as a 
 Roman citizen ; that is to say, he entered so thoroughly into 
 the sentiments of the impartial spectator, or of the ordinary 
 Roman citizen, that even his own sons weighed as nothing in 
 the balance with the smallest interest of Rome. The propriety 
 of the action, or the perfect sympathy of feeling between the 
 agent and the spectator, is the cause of our admiration of it. 
 Its utility certainly bestows upon it a new beauty, and so 
 still further recommends it to our approbation. But euch 
 beauty " is chiefly perceived by men of i-eflection and specu- 
 lation, and is by no means the quality which first recom- 
 mends such actions to the natural sentiments of the bulk of 
 mankind. '^ 
 
 Adam Smith also differs from Hume no less in his theory 
 of the cause of the beauty which results from a perception of 
 utility than in his theory of the place assignable to utility in 
 the principle of moral approbation. According to Hume, the 
 utility of any object is a source of pleasure from its suggestion 
 of the convoniency it is intended to promote, from its fitness 
 to produce the end intended by it. Adam Smith maintains, 
 rather by way of supplement than of contradiction, that the 
 fitness of a thing to produce its end, or the happy adjustment 
 of means to the attainment of any convenience or pleasure is 
 often more regarded than the end or convenience itself, and 
 he gives several instances to illustrate the operation of this 
 principle.
 
 ENDS AND MEANS. 149 
 
 For instance, a man coming into his room and finding all 
 the chaii-s in the middle, will perhaps be ang-ry with his ser- 
 vant and take the trouble to place them all with their backs 
 to the wall, for the sake of the greater convenience of having 
 the floor free and disengaged. But it is more the arrange- 
 ment than the convenience which he really cares for, since to 
 attain the convenience he puts himself to more trouble than 
 he could have suffered from the want of it, seeing that nothing 
 was easier for him than to have sat down at once on one of 
 the chairs, which is probably all he does when his labour is 
 over. 
 
 The same principle applies to the pursuit of riches, under 
 circumstances which imply much more trouble and vexation 
 than the possession of them can ever obviate. The poor man's 
 son, cursed with ambition, who admires the convenience of a 
 palace to live in, of horses to carry him, and of servants to 
 wait on him, sacrifices a real tranquillity for a certain artificial 
 and elegant repose he may never reach, to find at last that 
 " wealth and greatness ai"e mere trinkets of frivolous utility, 
 no more adapted for procuring ease of body or tranquillity of 
 mind, than the tweezer-cases of the lover of toys.""' Indeed, 
 there is no other real difference between them than that the 
 conveniences of the one are somewhat more observable than 
 those of the other. The palaces, gardens, or equipage of the 
 great are objects of which the conveniency strikes every one ; 
 their utility is obvious; and we readily enjoy by sympathy 
 the satisfaction they are fitted to afford. But the conveniency 
 of a toothpick or of a nail- cutter, being less obvious, it is less 
 easy to enter into the satisfaction of their possessor. They 
 are less reasonable objects of vanity than wealth and great- 
 ness, and less effectually gratify man^s love of distinction. To 
 a man who had to live alone on a desolate island, it might be 
 a matter of doubt, " whether a palace, or a collection of
 
 I50 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 such small conveniences as are commonly contained in a 
 tweezer-case, would contribute most to his happiness and 
 enjoj-ment." 
 
 The fact that the rich and the great are so much the object 
 of admiration is due not so much to any superior ease or 
 pleasure they are supposed to enjoy, as to the numberless 
 artificial and elegant contrivances they possess for promoting- 
 such ease and pleasure. The spectator does not imagine 
 " that they are really happier than other people, but he 
 imagines that they possess more means of happiness. And it 
 is the ingenious and artful adjustment of those means to the 
 end for which they were intended, that is the principal source 
 of his admiration." 
 
 Again, the sole use and end of all constitutions of govern- 
 ment is to promote the happiness of those who live under 
 them. But from this love of art and contrivance, we often 
 come to value the means more than the end, and to be eager 
 to promote the happiness of our fellows, less from any sympathy 
 with their sufferings or enjoyment than from a wish to perfect 
 and improve a beautiful system. Men of the greatest public 
 spirit have often been men of the smallest humanity, like 
 Peter the Great ; and if a public-spirited man encourages the 
 mending of roads, it is not commonly from a fellow-feeling 
 with carriers and waggoners so much as from a regard to the 
 general beauty of order. 
 
 This admits however of a practical application, for if you 
 wish to implant public virtue in a man devoid of it, you will 
 tell him in vain of the superior advantages of a well-governed 
 state, of the better homes, the better clothing, or the better 
 food. But if you describe the great system of government 
 which procures these advantages, explaining the connexions 
 and subordinations of their several parts, and their general 
 subserviency to the happiness of their society ; if you show
 
 ORIGIN OF PUBLIC SPIRIT. 151 
 
 the possibility of introducing- such a system into liis own 
 country, or of removing' the obstructions to it, and setting- the 
 wheels of the machine of government to move with more 
 harmony and smoothness, you will scarce fail to raise in him 
 the desire to help to remove the obstructions, and to put in 
 motion so beautiful and orderly a machine. It is less the 
 results of a political system that can move him than the 
 contemplation of an ingenious adjustment of means to ends.
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE EELATION OF ADAM SMITh's THEORY TO OTHER SYSTEMS 
 OF MORALITY. 
 
 The long-est and perhaps the most interesting division of 
 Adam Smithes treatise is that in which he reviews the relation 
 of his own theory to that of other systems of moi'al philo- 
 sophy. For like all writers on the same difficult subject, he 
 finds hut a very partial attainment of truth in any system 
 outside his own^ and claims for the latter a comprehensive 
 survey of all the phenomena^ which his predecessors had only 
 grasped singly and in detail. Every system of morality, 
 every theory of the origin of our moral sentiments, has heen 
 derived, he thinks, from some one or other of the principles 
 expounded by himself. And " as they are all of them in this 
 respect founded upon natural principles, they are all of them 
 in some measure in the right. But as many of them are 
 derived from a partial and imperfect view of nature, there are 
 many of them too in some respects in the wrong." 
 
 I. Thus with regard, first, to the nature of Virtue, all the 
 different theories, v/hether in ancient or in modern times, may, 
 Adam Smith thinks, be reduced to three, according as they 
 make it to consist in Propriety, Prudence, or Benevolence : 
 or in other words, according as they place it in the proper 
 government and direction of all our affexitions equally, whether 
 selfish or social; in the judicious pursuit of our own private 
 interest and happiness by the right direction of the selfish
 
 THREE THEORIES OF VIRTUE. 153 
 
 atrections alone j or in the disinterested pursuit of the liappiness 
 of others under the sole direction of the benevolent afTections. 
 
 Adam Smith's own theory differed from all these, in that 
 it took account of all these three different aspects of virtue 
 together, and g'ave no exclusive preference to any one of them. 
 "With Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics, who made virtue -to 
 consist in propriety of conduct, or in the suitableness of the 
 motive of action to the object which excites it, or with such 
 modern systems as those of Lord Shaftesbury or Clarke, who 
 defined virtue as maintaining- a proper balance of the affections 
 and passions, or as acting- according to the relations or to the 
 truth of things, he so far agreed as to regard such propriety as 
 constituting one element in our approbation of virtue; but 
 he maintained that this propriety, though an essential in- 
 gredient in every virtuous action, was not always the only 
 one. Propriety commanded approbation, and impropriety dis- 
 approbation, but there were other qualities which commanded 
 a higher degree of esteem or blame, and seemed to call for 
 reward or punishment respectively. Such were beneficent or 
 vicious actions, in which something was recognized besides 
 mere propriety or impropriety, and raised feelings stronger 
 than those of mere approval or dislike, and that was their 
 tendency to produce good or bad results. Moreover, none of 
 the systems which placed virtue in a propriety of affection 
 gave any measure by which that propriety might be ascer- 
 tained, nor could such a measure be found anywhere but 
 in the sympathetic feelings of the impartial and well-informed 
 spectator. 
 
 Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics, only regarded, in their 
 account of virtue, that i)art of it which consists in propriety 
 of conduct. According to Plato, the soul was composed of 
 three different facullics — reason, passion, and appetite; and 
 that higher form of justice which conttitutcs perfect virtue
 
 154 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 was nothing more than that state of mind in which eveiy 
 faculty confined itself to its proper sphere^ without encroaching' 
 upon that of any other, and performed its office with precisely 
 that degree of strength which belonged to it. In other words, 
 this justice, the last and greatest of the cardinal virtues, and 
 that which comprehended all the others, meant that exact and 
 perfect propriety of conduct, the nature of which has been 
 already discussed. Nearly the same account of virtue was 
 given by Aristotle, who defined it as the habit of moderation 
 in accordance with right reason; by which he meant a right 
 affection of mind towards particular objects, as in being 
 neither too much nor too little affected by objects of fear. 
 And the Stoics so far coincided with Plato and Aristotle as to 
 place perfect virtue, or rectitude of conduct, in a proper choice 
 or rejection of different objects and circumstances according 
 as they were by nature rendered more or less the objects of 
 our desire or aversion. In this propriety of the mind towards 
 external things consisted the life according to nature, or in 
 other words, the virtuous conduct of life. 
 
 No less incomplete than systems which placed virtue in 
 propriety alone were those systems which placed it in pru- 
 dence, or in a prudential regard for mere personal welfare. 
 Such were the systems of the Cyrenaics and Epicureans in 
 ancient times, and of writers like Hobbes and Mandeville in 
 modern times. According to Epicurus, the goodness or bad- 
 ness of anything was ultimately referable to its tendency to 
 produce bodily pleasure or pain. Thus power and riches were 
 desirable as good things, from their tendency to procure plea- 
 sure, whilst the evil of the contrary conditions lay in their 
 close connexion with pain. Honour and reputation were of 
 value, because the esteem of others was of so much impor- 
 tance to procure us pleasure and to defend us from pain. 
 And in the same way the several virtues were not desirable
 
 EPICURE A N THE OR V OF VIR TUE. 1 5 5 
 
 simply for themselves, but only by reason of their intimate 
 conn^jxion with our greatest well-being-, ease of body and 
 tranquillity of mind. Thus temperance was nothing but 
 prudence with regard to pleasure, the sacrifice of a present 
 enjoyment to obtain a greater one or to avoid a greater pain. 
 Courage was nothing but prudence with regard to danger or 
 labour, not good in itself, but only as repellent of some greater 
 evil. And justice too was nothing but prudence with regard 
 to our neighbours, a means calculated to procure their esteem, 
 and to avoid the fear that would flow from their resentment. 
 
 Adam Smith's first reply to this theory is, that whatever 
 may be the tendency of the several virtues or vices, the sen- 
 timents which they excite in others are the objects of a much 
 more passionate desire or aversion than all their other con- 
 sequences; that to be amiable and the proper object of esteem 
 is of more value to us than all the ease and security which 
 love or esteem can procure us : and that to be odious, or the 
 proper object of contempt, or indignation is more dreadful 
 than all we can suflTer in our body from hatred, contempt, or 
 indignation ; and that therefore our desire of the one character 
 and our aversion to the other cannot arise from regard to the 
 effects which either of them is likely to produce on the body. 
 
 Secondly, there is one aspect of nature from which the 
 Epicurean system derives its plausibility. " By the wise con- 
 trivance of the Author of nature, virtue is upon all ordinary 
 occasions, even with regard to this life, real wisdom, and the 
 surest and readiest means of obtaining both safety and advan- 
 tage" The success or failure of our undertakings must very 
 much depend on the good or bad opinion entertained of us, 
 and on the general disposition of others to assist or oppose us. 
 Hence the tendency of virtue to promote our interest and of 
 vice to obstruct it, undoubtedly stamps an additional beauty 
 and propriety upon the one, and a fresh deformity and im-
 
 156 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 propriety upon the other. And thus temperance, magnani- 
 mity, justice and beneficence, come to be approved of, not 
 only under their proper characters, but under the additional 
 character of the most real prudence and the highest wisdom ; 
 whilst the contrary vices come to be disapproved of, not only 
 under their proper characters, but under the additional cha- 
 racter of the most short-sighted folly and weakness. So that 
 the conduciveness of virtue to happiness is only secondary, 
 and so to speak accidental to its character; it is not its first 
 recommendation to our pursuit of it. 
 
 But if the theories which resolved virtue into propriety or 
 prudence were thus one-sided, the remaining theory — that 
 best represented by Hutcheson — was no less so, which made 
 virtue to consist solely in benevolence, or in a disinterested 
 regard to the good of others or the public generally. So far 
 indeed did Hutcheson carry this theory, that he even rejected 
 as a selfish motive to virtuous action the pleasure of self- 
 approbation, "'the comfortable applause of our own con- 
 sciences,^^ holding that it- diminished the merit of any 
 benevolent action. The principle of self-love could never be 
 virtuous in any degree, and it was merely innocent, not good, 
 when it led a man to act from a reasonable regard to his 
 own happiness. 
 
 Several reasons seem, indeed, at first sight, to justify the 
 identification of virtue with benevolence. It is the most 
 agreeable of all the affections. It is recommended to us by a 
 double sympathy, and we feel it to be the proper object of 
 gratitude and reward. Even its weakness or its excess is not 
 very disagreeable to us, as is the excess of every other 
 passion. And as it throws a peculiar charm over every action 
 which proceeds from it, so the want of it adds a peculiar de- 
 formity to actions indicative of disregard to the happiness of 
 others. Our sense too of the merit of any action is just so
 
 HUTCHESON'S THEORY OF VIRTUE. 157 
 
 far increased or diminishecl according' as we find that bene- 
 volence was or was not the motive of the action. If, for 
 instance^ an act supposed to proceed from gratitude is found 
 to proceed from the hope of some fresh favour, all its merit is 
 gone; and so if an action attributed to a selfish motive is 
 I'ouiul to have been due to a benevolent one, our sense of its 
 merit is all the more enhanced. And lastly, in all dis- 
 putes concerning the rectitude of conduct, the public good, 
 or the tendency of actions to promote the general welfare, has 
 always been the standard of reference, that being accounted 
 morally good which tends to promote happiness, and that bad 
 or wrong which tends to the contrary result. 
 
 These reasons led Hutcheson to the conclusion, that an act 
 was meritorious in proportion to the benevolence evidenced by 
 it ; hence that the virtue of an action was proportioned to the 
 extent of happiness it tended to promote, so that the least 
 virtuous afl^ection was that which aimed no further than at 
 the happiness of an individual, as a son, a brother, or a 
 friend, whilst the most virtuous was one which embraced as 
 its object the happiness of all intelligent beings. The per- 
 fection of virtue consisted therefore in directing all our actions 
 to promote the greatest possible good, and in subjecting all 
 inferior affections to the desire of the general happiness of 
 mankind. 
 
 The first defect which Adam Smith finds in this theory 
 of his former teacher is, that it fails to explain sufficiently our 
 approbation of the inferior virtues of prudence, temperance, 
 constancy, and firmness. Just as other theories erred in re- 
 garding solely the propriety or impropriety of conduct, and 
 in disregarding its good or bad tendency, so this system erred 
 by disregarding altogether the suitableness of affections to 
 their exciting cause, and attending only their beneficient or 
 hurtful effects.
 
 158 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 In the second place, a selfish motive is not always a bad 
 one. Self-love may often be a virtuous motive to action. 
 Every man is by nature first and principally recommended to 
 his own care ; and because he is fitter to take care of himself 
 than of any other person, it is right that he should do so. 
 Regard to our own private happiness and interest may con- 
 stitute very laudable motives of action. The habits of 
 economy, industry, discretion, attention, and application of 
 thought, though cultivated from self-interested motives, are 
 nevertheless praiseworthy qualities, and deserve the esteem 
 and approbation of everybody. On the other hand, careless- 
 ness and want of economy are universally disapproved of, 
 not as proceeding from a want of benevolence, but from a 
 want of a proper attention to the objects of self-interest. 
 
 And as to the standard of right and wrong being frequently 
 the tendency of conduct to the welfare or disorder of soeiet}', 
 it does not follow that a regard to society should be the sola 
 virtuous motive of action, but only that in any competition 
 it ought to cast the balance against all other motives. 
 
 It was, again, a general defect of each of the three theories 
 which defined virtue as propriet}', prudence, or benevolence, that 
 they tended to give a bias to the mind to some principles of 
 action beyond the proportion that is due to them. Thus the 
 ancient systems, which placed virtue in pi'opriety, insisted 
 little on the soft and gentle virtues, rather regarding them as 
 weaknesses to be expunged from the breast, while they laid 
 chief stress on the graver virtues of self-command, fortitude, 
 and courage. And the benevolent system, while encouraging 
 the milder virtues in the highest degree, went so far as to 
 denj the name of virtue to the more respectable qualities of 
 the mind, calling them merely ^' moral abilities," unworthy of 
 the approbation bestowed on real virtue. Nevertheless the 
 genera! tendency of each of these systems w^as to encourage
 
 THE SYSTEM OE MANDEVILLE. 159 
 
 the best and most laudable habits of the mind, and it were 
 well for society if mankind reg-ulated their conduct by the 
 precepts of any one of them. 
 
 This general good tendency of these three theories leads our 
 author to classify by itself, and to treat in a distinct chapter, 
 a system which, he says, destroys altogether the distinction 
 between virtue and vice, and of which the tendency conse- 
 quently is wholly pernicious, and that is the system, which he 
 designates as the Licentious System, expounded by Maude- 
 ville in the Fable of the Bees. 
 
 Adam Smith considers that this system, " which once made 
 so much noise in the world . . . could never have imposed 
 upon so great a number of persons, nor have occasioned so 
 general alarm among those who are the friends of better prin- 
 ciples, had it not in some respects bordered upon the truth," 
 
 Mandeville's famous definition of the moral virtues as " the 
 political offspring which flattery begot upon pride,'' was 
 based on the assumption that morality was not natural to 
 man, but was the invention of wise men, who, by giving the 
 title of noble to persons capable of self-denial and of pre- 
 ferring the public interest to their own, won mankind gene- 
 rall}^ through this subtle flattery, to what they chose to 
 denominate virtue. Hence whatever men did from a sense of 
 propriety, or from a regard to what was praiseworthy, they 
 really did from a love of praise, from pride or vanity. This 
 love of praise was one of the strongest of man's selfish affections, 
 and the foundation of the love of honour. In conduct appa- 
 rently the most disinterested, this selfish motive was present. 
 If a man sacrificed his own interest to that of his fellows, he 
 knew that his conduct would be agreeable to their self-love, 
 and that they would not fail to express their satisfaction by 
 bestowing on himself the most extravagant praises. The 
 pleasure he would derive from this source counterbalanced the
 
 l6o ADAM SMITH. 
 
 interest he abandoned to procure it. Hence all pubjic spirit, 
 or preference of public to private interest was a mere cheat 
 and imposition on mankind. 
 
 The fallacy of this system lies^ according to Adam Smith, 
 in a sophistical use of the word vanity — in its application to a 
 remote affinity that prevails between two really very different 
 things. To desire praise for qualities which are not praise- 
 worthy in any degree, or for qualities praiseworthy in 
 themselves but unpossessed by the individual concerned, 
 is vanity proper ; but this frivolous desire for praise at any 
 price is very different from the desii-e of rendering our- 
 selves the proper objects of honour and esteem, or of acquiring 
 honour and esteem by reallj'" deserving them. The affinity 
 between these very different desires, of whicb Mandeville 
 made so much use, lay in the fact that vanity as well as 
 the love of true glory aims at acquiring esteem and approba- 
 tion ; but the difference consists in this, that the desire of tlie 
 one is unjust and ridiculous, while that of the other is just 
 and reasonable. 
 
 There is also an affinity between the love of virtue and the 
 love of true glory, which gives a certain speciousness to 
 Mandeville's theory. For there is a close connexion between 
 the desire of becoming what is honourable and estimable, 
 which is the love of virtue, and the desire of actual honour 
 and esteem, which is the love of true glory. They both have — 
 and herein lies their superficial resemblance to vanity — some 
 reference to the sentiments of others. Even in the love of 
 virtue there is still some reference, if not to what is, yet to 
 what in reason and propriety ought to be, the opinion of 
 others. The man of the greatest magnanimity, who desires 
 virtue for its own sake, and is most indifferent about the 
 actual opinions of mankind, is still delighted with the thoughts 
 of what those opinions ought to be, and with the conscious-
 
 FALLACIES OF MANDEVILLE. i6i 
 
 ness tliat though he may neiihcr be honoured nor applauded, 
 he is yet the proper object of honour and applause. 
 
 Another feature of Mandeville's system was to deny the 
 existence of any self-denial or disinterestedness in human 
 virtue of any kind. Thus wherever temperance fell short 
 of the most ascetic abstinence, he treated it as g-ross 
 luxury; and all our pretensions to self-denial were based, 
 not on the conquest, but on the concealed indulgence, of our 
 passions. 
 
 Here the fallacy lay in representing every passion as wholly 
 vicious, which is so in any degree and in any direction. 
 There are some of our passions which have no other names 
 than those which mark the disagreeable and offensive de*ree, 
 they being more apt to attract notice in this degree than in 
 any other. It is not therefore to demolish the reality of such 
 a virtue as temperance, to show that the same indulgence of 
 pleasure which when unrestrained is regarded as blameable, is 
 also present when the passion is restrained. The virtue in 
 such cases consists, not in an entire insensibility to the 
 objects of passion, but in the restraint of our natural desire of 
 them. 
 
 The same fallacy underlies the famous paradox that " private 
 vices are public benefits," and that it is not the good, but the 
 evil qualities of men, which lead to greatness. By using the 
 word luxury, as it was used in the fashionable asceticism of 
 his time, as in every respect evil, it was easy for Mandeville 
 to show that from this evil all trade and wealth and prosperity 
 flowed, and that without it no society could flourish. " If/' 
 Adam Smith replies, "the love of magnificence, a taste for 
 the elegant arts and improvements of human life ; for 
 whatever is agreeable in dress, furniture, or equipage ; for 
 architecture, statuary, painting, and music, is to be regarded 
 as luxury, sensuality, and ostentation, even in those whoso 
 
 M
 
 i62 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 situation allows, without any inconveniency, the indulgence 
 cf those passions, it is certain that luxury, sensuality, and 
 ostentation are public benefits." If everj^thing" is to bo 
 reprobated as luxury which exceeds what is absolutely neces- 
 sary for the support of human nature, ''there is vice even in 
 the use of a clean shirt, or of a convenient liabitation/' 
 Hence the whole point of the paradox rests on a loose and 
 unscientific use of the word luxury. 
 
 11. To turn now to the other great question of ethics, to 
 the nature of moral approbation, and its source in the 
 mind. 
 
 As the different theories of the nature of virtue may all be 
 reduced to thi-ee, so all the different theories concerning- the 
 origin of moral approbation may be reduced to a similar 
 number. Self-love, reason, and sentiment, are the three 
 different sources which have been assigned for the principle of 
 moral approbation. According to some, we approve or dis- 
 approve of our own actions and of those of others from self- 
 love only, or from some view of their tendency to our own 
 happiness or disadvantage; according to others, we distin- 
 guish what is fit or unfit, both in actions and affections, by 
 reason, or the same faculty by which we distinguish truth 
 from fiilsehood; and according to yet a third school, the dis- 
 tinction is altogether the effect of immediate sentiment and 
 feeling, arising from the pleasure or disgust with which 
 certain actions or affections inspire us. 
 
 According to Adam Smith, there was again some truth In 
 each of these theories, but they each fell short of that com- 
 pleteness of explanation which was the merit of his own 
 peculiar system. 
 
 The self-love theory, best expounded by Ilobbes and Man- 
 deville, reduced the principle of approbation to a remote 
 perception of the tendency of conduct upon personal well-
 
 SELFISH THEORY OF MORALS. 163 
 
 being-; and the merit of virtue or demerit of vice consisted in 
 their respectively serving- to support or disturb society, the 
 preservation of which was so necessary to the security of 
 individual existence. 
 
 To this our author objects, that this perception of the good 
 effects of virtue enhances indeed our appreciation of it, but 
 that it does not cause it. When the innumerable advan- 
 tages of a cultivated and social life over a savage and solitary 
 one are described, and the necessity of virtue pointed out for 
 the maintenance of the one, and the tendency of vice to 
 reproduce the other, the reader is charmed with the novelty 
 of the observation ; " he sees plainly a new beauty in virtue 
 and a new deformity in vice, which he had never taken notice 
 of before; and is commonly so delighted with the discoverv, 
 that he seldom takes time to reflect that this political view, 
 having never occurred to him in his life before, cannot possibly 
 be the ground of that approbation and disapprobation with 
 which he has always been accustomed to consider tho e 
 lifferent qualities/' 
 
 In the application of the self-love theory to our praise or 
 blame of actions or conduct in past time — as of the virtue 
 of Cato or of the villany of Catiline — there was only an 
 imaginary, not an actual, reference to self; and in praising or 
 blaming in such cases we thought of what might have haj)- 
 pened to us, had we lived in those times, or of what might 
 still happen to us if in our own times we met with 
 such characters. The idea which the authors of this theory 
 " were groping about, but which they were never able to 
 unfold distinctly, was that indirect sjmipathy which we feel 
 with the gratitude or resentment of those who received the 
 benefit or suffered the damage resulting from such opposite 
 characters.'*' 
 
 Is the principle of sympathy then a selfish principle? I3
 
 i64 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 sympathy with the sorrow or indignation of another an emo- 
 tion founded on self-love, because it arises from bringing the 
 case of another home to oneself, and then ccuiceiving of one's 
 own feelings in the same situation ? 
 
 The answer to this question is important, and is best given 
 in Adam Smithes own words, as he himself admits that the 
 whole account of human nature which deduces all senti- 
 ments and aifections from self-love, seems to have arisen 
 '^ from some confused misapprehension of the system of sym- 
 pathy." His answer, which is as follows, will perhaps not be 
 thought completely satisfactory : "Though sympathy is very 
 properly said to arise from an imaginary change of situations 
 with the person principally concerned, j'et this imaginary 
 change is not supposed to haj)pen to me in my own person 
 and character, but in that of the person with whom I sympa- 
 thize. When I condole with you for the loss of your only son, 
 in order to enter into your grief I do not consider what I, a 
 person of such a character and profession, should suffer if I had 
 a son, and if that son was unfortunately to die ; but I consider 
 what I should suffer if I was really you ; and I not only 
 change circumstances with you, but I change persons and 
 characters. My grief, therefore, is entirely upon your account, 
 and not in the least upon my own.. It is not, therefore, in the 
 least selfish. How can that be regarded as a selfish passion, 
 which does not arise even from the imagination of anything 
 that has befallen, or that relates to myself, in my own proper 
 person or character, but is entirely occupied about what relates 
 to you V Yet if a referejice to self be the fundamental fact of 
 sympathy, it would seem that this is equivalent to making a 
 reference to self the foundation of all moral sentiment; as in 
 Hobbes' explanation of pity, that it is grief for the calamity 
 of another, arising from the imagination of the like calamity 
 b(!f'alling oneself. And it is remarkable that the samejiassage
 
 THE RATIONAL SYSTEM. 165 
 
 of Pol} bins wliicli lias been thoug-lit to be an anticipation of the 
 theory of sympathy, should have also been quoted by Hume, as 
 showing- that Polybius referred all our sentiments of virtue to 
 a selfish origin. 
 
 Next to the theory which founded moral approbation in self- 
 love, comes that which founded it in reason. This theory 
 originated in the opposition to the doctrine of Hobbes, who 
 made the laws of the civil magistrate the sole ultimate stan- 
 dards of just and unjust, of right and wrong — implying- the 
 consequence, that there was no natural distinction between 
 right and wrong, but that they were the arbitrarj'- creations 
 of law. Cudworth taught, that, antecedent to all law or 
 positive institution, there was a faculty of the mind which 
 distinguished moral qualities in actions and affections, and 
 that this faculty was reason ; the same faculty that distin- 
 guished truth from falsehood, thus also distinguishing right 
 from wron^. It became therefore the popular doctrine, when 
 the controversy with Hobbes was at its height, that the 
 essence of viitue and vice did not consist in the conformity 
 or nonconformity of actions with the law of a superior, 
 but in their conformity or nonconformity with reason; and 
 reason thus came to be considered as the original source of all 
 moral approbation. 
 
 In this theory also Adam Smith recognizes some elements 
 of truth. "That virtue consists in conformity to reason is 
 true in some respects ; and this faculty may very justly be 
 considered as, in some sense, the source and principle of moral 
 approbation and disapprobation, and of all solid judgments 
 concerning right and wrong.^' Induction too is one of the 
 operations of reason, and it is by induction and experience 
 that the general rules of morality are formed. They are esta- 
 blished inductivcl}'^, from the observation in a number of par- 
 ticular cases of what is pleasing or displeasing to our moral
 
 i66 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 faculties. So it is by reason that we discover those general 
 rules of justice by which we ought to regulate our actions; 
 and by the same faculty we form those more indeterminate 
 ideas of what is prudent, decent, generous, or noble, according 
 to which we endeavour to model our conduct. And as it is by 
 these general rules, so formed by an induction of reason, that 
 we most regulate our moral judgments, which would be very 
 variable if they depended merely upon feeling and sentiment, 
 virtue may so far be said to consist in couformity to reason, 
 and so far may reason be considered as the source of moral 
 approbation. 
 
 This admission, however, is a very different thing from the 
 supposition that our first perceptions of right and wrong can 
 be derived from reason. These first perceptions, upon which 
 from a number of particular cases the general rules of morality 
 are founded, mustbethe object of an immediate sense and feeling, 
 not of reason. "It is by finding in a vast variety of instances 
 that one tenor of conduct constantly pleases in a certain manner, 
 and that another as constantly displeases the mind, that we 
 form the general rules of morality. But reason cannot render 
 any particular object either agreeable or disagreeable to the 
 mind for its own sake. Reason may show that this object is 
 the means of obtaining some other which is naturally either 
 pleasing or displeasing, and in this manner may render it 
 either agreeable or disagreeable for the sake of something else ; 
 but nothing can be agreeable or disagreeable for its own sake, 
 which is not rendered such by immediate sense and fi^eling. 
 If vii'tue, therefore, in every particular instance, necessarily 
 pleases for its own sake, and if vice as certainly displeases the 
 mind, it cannot be reason, but immediate sense and feeling 
 which in this manner reconciles us to the one and alienates us 
 from the other." 
 
 There remained therefore the theories which made sentiment
 
 FHEORY OF THE MORAL SENSE. 167 
 
 or feeling' the original source of moral approbation ; and the 
 best exposition of this theory was that given by Ilutcheson 
 in bis doctrine of the Moral Sense. 
 
 If the principle of approbation was founded neither on self- 
 love nor on reason, there must be some faculty of a peculiar 
 kind, with which the human mind was endowed to produce 
 the effect in question. Such a faculty was the moral sense 
 — a particular power of percej^tion exerted by the mind 
 at the view of certain actions and affections, by which 
 those that affected the mind agreeably were immediately 
 stamped with the characters of right, laudable, and virtuous, 
 while those that affected it otherwise were immediately 
 stamped with the characters of wrong, blameable, and 
 vicious. 
 
 This moral sense was somewhat analagons to our external 
 senses; for as external bodies, by affecting our senses in a 
 certain way, seemed to possess the different qualities of sound, 
 taste, smell, or colour, so the various affections of the mind, 
 by touching the moral sense in a certain way, appeared to 
 possess the different qualities of right or wrong, of virtue or 
 of vice. The moral sense too was a reflex internal sense, as 
 distinct from a direct internal sense ; that is to say, as the 
 perception of beauty was a reflex sense presupposing the 
 direct sense which perceived objects and colours, so the per- 
 ception of the beauty or deformity of passions and affections 
 was a reflex sense presupposing the perception by a direct 
 internal sense of the several passions and affections them- 
 selves. Other reflex senses of the same kind were, a ])ul)lic 
 sense, by which we sympathize with the happiness or misery 
 of our fellows; a sense of shame and honour; and a sense 
 of ridicule. 
 
 One consequence of this analogy between the moral sense 
 and the external senses, and a consequence drawn by Ilutche-
 
 i63 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 son biraself'j was that our moral faculties themselves conld 
 not be called virtuous or vicious, morally good or morally 
 evil ; for the qualities of any ol)ject of sense cannot be 
 applied to the sense itself. An object may have the quality 
 of black or white, but the sense of seeing- is not black nor 
 white; and in the same way, though an action or sentiment 
 may appear good or bad, the qualities of goodness or badness 
 cannot attach to the moral faculty which perceives such quali- 
 ties in nature. 
 
 Adam Smith objects to this, that we do recognize some- 
 thing morally good in correct moral sentiments, and that we 
 do consider a man worthy of moral approbation whose praise 
 and blame are always accurately suited to the value or worth- 
 lessness of conduct. If we saw a man "shouting with admi- 
 ration and applause at a barbarous and unmerited execution, 
 which some insolent tyrant had ordered,''^ we should be surely 
 justified in calling such behaviour vicious, and morally evil in 
 the highest degree, though it expressed nothing but a depraved 
 state of the moral faculties. There is no perversion of sen- 
 timent or affection we should be more averse to enter into, 
 or reject with greater disapprobation, than one of this kind; 
 and so far from regarding such a state of mind as merely 
 strange, and not at all vicious or evil, we should rather re- 
 gard it "as the very last and most dreadful stage of moral 
 depravity .■'•' 
 
 IS^or are the difficulties less if we found the principle of 
 moral approbation, not upon any sense analogous to the 
 external senses, but upon some peculiar sentiment, intended 
 for such a purpose ; if we say, for instance, that as resentment 
 may be called a sense of injuries, or gratitude a sense of 
 benefits, so approbation and disapprobation, as feelings or 
 emotions which arise in the mind on the view of dillercnt
 
 DIFFERENT MORAL EMOTIONS. 169 
 
 actions and characters, may be called a sense of right and 
 wrong-, or a moral sense. 
 
 For if approbation and disapprobation were, like gratitude 
 or resentmejit, an emotion of a particular kind, distinct from 
 every other, whatever variations either of them might undergo 
 we should expect them to retain clearly marked and distin- 
 guishable general features; just as in all the variations of the 
 emotion of anger, it is easy to distinguish the same general 
 features. "VA'ith regard to approbation it is otherwise, for 
 there are no common features running through all manifesta- 
 tions of moral ajiproval, or the contrary. " The approbation 
 with which we view a tender, delicate, and humane sentiment, 
 is quite different from that with which we are struck by one 
 that appears great, daring, and magnanimous. Our appro- 
 bation of both may, upon different occasions, be perfect and 
 entire; but we are softened \)y 'the one and we are elevated 
 by the other, and there is no sort of resemblance between the 
 emotions which they excite in us.''' And, in the same way, 
 our horror for cruelty has no resemblance to our contempt for 
 meanness of spirit. 
 
 By his own theory Adam Smith thinks that this dif- 
 ference in the character of approbation is more easily explained. 
 It is because the emotions of the peison whom we approve 
 of are different when they are humane and delicate from 
 what they are when they are great and daring, and because 
 our approbation arises from sympathy with these different 
 emotions, that our feeling of approbation with regard to the 
 one sentiment is so different from what it is with regard to 
 the other. 
 
 ^Moreover, not only are the different passions and affections 
 of the human mind approved or disapproved as morally good 
 or evil, but the approbation or dit^approbation itself is marked
 
 170 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 with the same moral attributes. The moral sense theory 
 cannot account for this fact ; and the only explanation pos- 
 sible is, that^ in this instance at least^ the coincidence or 
 opposition of sentiments between the person judging- and the 
 person judged constitutes moral approbation or the contrary. 
 When the apjirobation with which our neighbour regards the 
 conduct of another person coincides with our own^ we approve 
 of his approbation as in some measure morally good; and so, 
 on the contrary, when his sentiments differ from our own, we 
 disaf)prove of them as morally wrong. 
 
 If a peculiar sentiment, distinct from every other, were really 
 the source of the principle of approbation, it is strange that 
 such a sentiment " should hitherto have been so little taken 
 notice of as not to have got a name in any language. The 
 word 'moral sense' is of very late formation, and cannot yet 
 
 be considered as making part of the English tongue 
 
 The word 'conscience' docs not immediately denote any moral 
 faculty by which we approve or disapprove. Conscience sup- 
 ])oses, indeed, the existence of some such faculty, and properly 
 signifies our consciousness of having acted agreeably to its 
 directions. When love, hatred, joy, sorrow, gratitude, resent- 
 ment, with so many other passions which are all supposed to 
 be the subjects of this principle, have made themselves con- 
 siderable enough to get them titles to know them by, is it 
 rot surprising that the sovereign of them all should hitherto 
 have been so little heeded that — a few philosophers excepted — 
 nobody has yet thought it worth while to bestow a name 
 upon it?" 
 
 In opposition then to the theory which derives moral appro- 
 bation from a peculiar sentiment, Adam Smith reduces it 
 himself to four sources, in some respects different from one 
 another. " First, we sympathize with the motives of the 
 agent j secondly, we enter into the gratitude of those who
 
 SOURCES OF MORAL APPROBATION. i;i 
 
 receive the beneiit of his actions; thirdly, we observe that his 
 conduct has been agreeable to the general rules by which 
 those two sympathies generally act; and last of all, when wo 
 consider such actions as making a part of a system of 
 behaviour which tends to promote the happiness either of 
 the individual or of the society, they appear to derive a beauty 
 from this utility not unlike that which we ascribe to any 
 well-contrived machine."
 
 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 EEVIEW OF THE PRINCIPAL CRITICISIIS OF ADAM SMITH's 
 THEORY. 
 
 The result of the preceding chapter, in which the relation of 
 Adam Smith's theory to other ethical theories has been 
 defined, is that it is a theory in which all that is true in the 
 " selfish ■'■' system of Hobbes or Mandeville, in the " benevo- 
 lent'" system of Hutcheson, or in the "utilitarian'' system of 
 Hume, is adopted and made use of, to form a system quite 
 distinct from any one of them. It seeks to bridge over their 
 diffei'ences, by avoiding- the one-sidedness of their several 
 principles, and taking a wider view of the facts of humar 
 nature. It is therefore, properly speaking, an Eclectic theory, 
 if by eclecticism be understood, not a mere commixture of 
 different systems, but a discriminate selection of the elements 
 of truth to be found in them severally. 
 
 The ethical writers who most influenced Adam Smith were 
 undoubtedly Hume and Hutcheson, in the way of agreement 
 and difference that has been already indicated, Dugald 
 Stewart has also drawn attention to his obligations to Butler.* 
 It would be interesting to know whether he ever read Hart- 
 ley's Observations on Man, a work which, published in 1 749 — 
 that is, some ten years before his own — would have 
 materially assisted his argument. For Adam Smith's account 
 (if the growth of conscience — of a sense of duty, is in reality 
 * Active and Moral Powers, vol. i., p. 412.
 
 HARTLEY. 173 
 
 closely connected with the theory which explains its origin by 
 the working of the laws of association. From our expe- 
 rience of the constant association between the acts of others 
 and pleasurable or painful feelings of our own, according as 
 we sympathize or not with them, comes tlie desire of ourselves 
 causing in others similar pleasurable, and avoiding similar 
 painful, emotions — or in other words, that desire of praise and 
 aversion to blame which, refined and purified by reference to 
 an imaginary and ideal spectator of our conduct, grows to be 
 a conscientious and disinterested love of virtue and detestation 
 of vice. The rules of moral conduct, formed as they are by 
 gcnei'alization from particular judgments of the sympathetic 
 instinct, or from a number of particular associations of plea- 
 surable and painful feelings with particular acts, are them- 
 selves directly associated with that love of praise or praise- 
 worthiness which originates in our longing for the same 
 sympathy from other men with regard to ourselves that we 
 know to be pleasurable in the converse relation. The word 
 "association^' is never once used by Adam Smith, but it is 
 implied at ever}^ step of his theory, and forms really as funda- 
 mental a feature in his reasoning as it does in that of the 
 philosopher who was the first to investigate its laws in their 
 application to the facts of morality. This is, perhaps, in- 
 ternal evidence enough that Adam Smith never saw Hartley's 
 work.' 
 
 But the writer who, perhaps, as much as any other contri- 
 buted to the formation of Adam Smith's ideas, seems to have 
 
 ' Yet in his Essay on the External Senses, of which the date is un- 
 certain, and in his History of Astronomy, which he certainly wrote 
 before 1758, mention is made by Ad;im Smith of the association of ideas. 
 It is probable, however, that he was acquainted with tlie doctrine, not 
 from II;irtloy, but from Hume's statement of it in the Inquiry concern- 
 ing Human Understanding.
 
 174 AI)A3f SMITH. 
 
 been Pope, who in liis Essni/ on Man anticipated many of 
 the leading- thoug-hts in the Theorjj of Moral SetiUnienfs. The 
 points of resemblance between the poet and the philosopher 
 are frequent and obvious. There is in both the same constant 
 appeal to nature, and to the wisdom displayed in her laws ; 
 the same reference to self-love as the basis of the social virtues 
 and benevolence ; the same identification of virtue with hap- 
 piness ; and the same depreciation of greatness and ambition 
 as conducive to human felicity. 
 
 Adam Smitl/s simple theory of happiness, for instance, 
 reads like a commentary on the text supplied by Pope in the 
 lines, — 
 
 "Reason's whole pleasure, all the J03-S of sense, 
 Lie in three words — Health, Peace, and Competence." 
 
 Said in prose, the same teaching is conveyed by the philo- 
 sopher : " What can be added to the happiness of the man 
 who is in health, who is out of debt, and has a clear con- 
 science ? " 
 
 Or, to take another instance. Adam Smith's account of 
 the order in which individuals are recommended by nature to 
 our care is precisely the same as that given by Pope. Says 
 the former : "Every man is first and principally recommended 
 to his own care,^' and, after himself, his friends, his country, 
 or mankind become by degrees the object of his sympathies 
 So said Pope before him : — 
 
 " God loves from whole to parts : but human soul 
 Must rise from individual to the whole. 
 Self-love bi;t serves the virtuous mind to walce, 
 As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 
 The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds 
 Another still, and still another spreads ; 
 Friend, parent, neigiibour, first it will embrace ; 
 His country- next; and next all human race."
 
 RELATIVITY OF MORALITY. i;5 
 
 To turn now from the theory itself to the criticisms upon 
 it : it may perhaps be said, that if the importance of an ethical 
 theory in the history of moral philosophy may be measured 
 by the amoimt of criticism expended upon it^ Adam Smith's 
 Theory of Moral Sentiments must take its place immediately 
 after Hume's Enquiry concerning the Trinciples of Morals. 
 The shorter observations on it by Lord Karnes and Sir James 
 Mackintosh bear witness to the great interest that attached 
 to it, no less than the longer criticisms of Dr. Brown, Dugald 
 Stewart, or Jouffroy, the French moral philosopher. The 
 various objections raised by these writers, all of whom have 
 approached it with that impartial acuteness so characteristic of 
 philosophers in regard to theories not their own, will best 
 serve to illustrate what have been considered the weak points 
 in the general theorj'- proposed by Adam Smith, Bat i.n 
 following the main current of such criticism, it is only fair 
 that we should try in some measure to hold the scales between 
 the critics and their author, and to weigh the value of the 
 arguments that have been actually advanced on the one side 
 and that seem capable of being advanced on the other. 
 
 First of all, it is said that the resolution of all moral appro- 
 bation into sympathy really makes morality dependent on the 
 mental constitution of each individual, and so sets up a 
 variable stan':lard, at the mercy of personal influences and 
 local custom. Adam Smith says expressly indeed, that there 
 is no other measure of moral conduct than the sympathetic 
 approbation of each individual. " Every faculty in one man 
 is the measure by which he judges of the like faculty in 
 another j" and as he judges of other men's power of sight or 
 hearing by reference to his own, so he judges of their love, 
 resentment, or otb.er moral states, by reference to his own 
 consciousness of those several affections. 
 
 Is not this to destroy the fixed character of morality, and to
 
 T75 ABA AT SMITH. 
 
 deprive it — as Protagoras, the Greek sophist, deprived it long" 
 ao-o in liis similar teaehino- that man was the measure of ull 
 things — of its most ennobling qualities, its eternity and immu- 
 tability ? Is it not to reduce the rules of morality to the level 
 merely of the rules of etiquette ? Is it not to make our 
 standard of conduct dependent merely on the ideas and pas- 
 sions of those we happen to live with ? Does it not justify 
 Brown^s chief objection to the system of sympathy, that it 
 fixes morality "on a basis not sufficiently firm^^ ? 
 
 Adam Smith's answer to this might have been, that the con- 
 sideration of the basis of morality lay beyond the scope of his 
 inquiry, and that, if he explained the principle of moral appro- 
 bation by the laws of sympathy he appealed to, the facts com- 
 manded acceptance, whatever the consequences might be. He 
 would have reasserted confidently, that no case of approbation 
 occurred without a tacit reference to the sympathy of the ap- 
 prover ; and that the feeling of approbation or the contrary 
 always varied exactly with the degree of sympathy or anti- 
 pathy felt for the agent. Therefore, if as a matter of fact 
 every case of such approbation implied a reference to the feel- 
 ings of the individual person approving, then those feelings 
 were the source of moral judgment, however variable or rela- 
 tive morality might thus be made to appear. 
 
 He would also have denied that the consequence of his 
 theory did really in any way weaken the basis of morality, or 
 deprive it of its obligatory power over our conduct. The 
 assertion of such a consequence has been perhaps the most 
 persistent objection raised against his system. Sir James 
 Mackintosh, for instance, makes the criticism, that "the sym- 
 pathies have nothing more of an imperalive character than 
 any other emotions. They attract or repel, like other feelings, 
 according to their intensity. If, then, the sympathies continue 
 in mature minds to conjititute the whole of conscience, it be-
 
 yOUFFROY'S CRITICISM. i;/ 
 
 comes utterly impossible to explain the character of command 
 and supremacy, which is attested by the unanimous voice of 
 mankind to belong to that faculty, and to form its essential 
 distinction/^ 3 But as, of all Adam Smith's critics, Jouffroy 
 has been the one who has urged this argument with the 
 greatest force, it will be best to follow his reasoning, before 
 considering the force of the objection. 
 
 According to him, no more moral authority can attach to 
 the instinct of sympathy than can attach to any other instinct 
 of our nature. The desire of sympathy, being simply an in- 
 stinct, can have no claim to prevail over the impulses of our 
 other instincts, whenever they happen to come into conflict, 
 than such as is founded on its possible greater strength. For 
 instance, the instinct of self-love often comes into conflict 
 with, and often prevails over, the instinct of sympathy, the 
 motive of self-interest well -understood being thus superior to 
 our sympathetic impulses both in fact and by right. If then 
 there is a superiority in the instinct of sympathy above all 
 our other instincts, it must come from a judgment of reason, 
 decisive of its title; but since such decision of reason implies 
 a reference to some rule other and higher than instinct, our 
 motive in preferring the inspirations of instinctive sympathy 
 to all other impulses must be derived from this higher motive, 
 or, in other v/ords, from reason and not from instinct. Hence, 
 since the sympathetic instinct bears no signs of an authority 
 superior to that of other instincts, there is no real authority in 
 the motive which, according to Adam Smith, impels us to 
 right conduct. Instead of proving that the instinct of sym- 
 pathy is the true moral motive, Adam Smith describes truly 
 and leauiilully the cliaracteristics of this moral motive, and 
 
 ^ Progress of Ethical PhiJosophy, p. 210; compare also DugalJ 
 S;ewart's Jv/irc and Mural Powers, vol. i., p. 331. 
 
 N
 
 I7S ADAM SMITH. 
 
 then gratuitously attributes them to the instinct of sympathy. 
 But he fails to apply to rules of conduct founded upon such 
 an instinctj that which is tlie special characteristic of the 
 moral motive^ namely^ that it alone is obligatory — alone pre- 
 sents us, as an end to be pursued, an end which ought to be 
 pursued, as distinct from other ends sug-g-ested by other 
 motives, which may be pursued or not as we please. '' Among* 
 all possible motives, the moral motive alone appears to us as 
 one that ought to govern our conduct." 
 
 Jouffroy applies the same reasoning to Adam Smith's ex- 
 planation of our moral ideas, those, for example, of Kig/if, and 
 Butj/. For if the motive of sympathy bears with it no autho- 
 rity, it is evident that it cannot explain ideas both of which 
 imply and involve a motive of obligation. If duty is-obedieuce 
 to rules of conduct that have been produced by sympathy, 
 and these rules are only generalizations of particular judg- 
 ments of instinctive sympathy, it is plain that the authority 
 of these rules can be no greater than that of the judgments 
 which originally gave rise to them. If it is equally a duty to 
 obey the instinct as to obey the rules it gives rise to, it is 
 superfluous to explain duty as a sense of the authority of 
 these rules, seeing that it is already involved in the process of 
 their formation. And if again it can never be a duty to obey 
 the instinct, because neither its direction nor the desire of 
 sympathy which impels us to follow it can ever be obligatory, 
 it can none the more be a duty to obey the rules which are 
 Ibunded upon the instinct. The authority of the moral rules 
 or principles of conduct stands or falls with the authority of 
 the instinct ; for if the latter can enforce obligation to a cer- 
 tain degree, it can enforce it in all degrees; and if it cannot 
 enforce it to this degree, then it cannot in any. It is 
 therefore Jouffroy's conclusion, that "there is not, in the 
 system of Smith, any such thing as a moral law; and it is
 
 MORAL OBLIGATION. 179 
 
 incompetent to explain our ideas of duty, of riglit, and of all 
 other such ideas as imply the fact of oblig-ation/'^ 
 
 The question tlien is, How far is such criticism well-founded ? 
 How far is it relevant to the subject-matter of Adam Smith's 
 treatise ? 
 
 Adam Smith mig-ht have replied to JoutFroy's objections by 
 asking whether, putting- aside the question of the soundness 
 of his theory of the origin of moral approbation, any theory 
 that accounted for the approbation did not ipso facto account 
 for the obligation. He might have said that, if he showed 
 why one course of conduct was regarded as good and another 
 as bad, he implicitly showed why one course was felt to be 
 right and the other to be wrong — why it was felt that one 
 course ought to be followed and the other course ought to be 
 avoided. For the feeling of authority and obligation is in- 
 volved in the fact of approbation. As it has been well put 
 by Brown, ^' The very conceptions of the rectitude, the obliga- 
 tion, the approvableness (of certain actions) are involved in 
 the feeling of the approbation itself. It is impossible for us 
 
 to have the feeling, and not to have these To know 
 
 that we should feel ourselves unworthy of self-esteem, and objects 
 rather of self-abhorrence, if we did not act in a certain manner, 
 is to feel the moral obligation to act in a certain manner, as it 
 is to feel the moral rectitude of the action itself. We are so 
 constituted that it is impossible for us, in certain circum- 
 stances, not to have this feeling ; and having the feeling, we 
 must have the notions of virtue, obligation, merit.* •" 
 
 Moreover, Adam Smith expressly pointed out that the 
 difference between moral approbation and approbation of all 
 other kinds lay in the impossibility of our being as indifferent 
 about conduct as about other things, because conduct, either 
 
 * Introduction to Ethics ; translation, vol. ii., p. 117. 
 
 * Lectures on Ethics, p. 13. 
 
 N -l
 
 i8o ADAM SMITH. 
 
 directly or by our imag-ination^ affected ourselves ; so that the 
 additional strength thus conferred on the feeling of moral 
 approbation was quite sufficient to account for that feeling of 
 the imperative and obligatory force which inculcates obedience 
 to moral rules. If there is no authority in an instinct ^ier se, 
 it may nevertheless be so constituted and may so operate that 
 the strictest sense of duty may ultimately grow from it and 
 upon it. The obligation is none the less real because it can 
 be accounted for; nor are the claims of duty any the less sub- 
 stantial because they are capable of being traced to so humble 
 a beginning as an instinctive desire for the sympathy of our 
 fellows. 
 
 It may therefore be said, on behalf of Adam Smith, that it 
 is not to weaken the basis of morality, nor the authority o£ 
 conscience, to trace either of them to their sources in senti- 
 ments of sympathy, originally influenced by pleasure and pain. 
 The obligatory nature of moral rules remains a fact, which no 
 theory of their origin can alter or modify; just as benevolent 
 affections remain facts of our moral -being, irrespective of their 
 possible superstructure on instincts of self-interest. If con- 
 science is explicable as a kind of generalization or summary 
 of moral sympathies, formed by the observation of the distri- 
 bution of praise or blame in a number of particular instances 
 and by personal experience of many years, its influence need 
 be none the less great nor its control any the less authoritative 
 than if it were proved to demonstration to be a primary prin- 
 ciple of our moral consciousness. 
 
 It is also necessary to remember that Adam Smith carefully 
 restricted the feeling of obligation to the one single virtue of 
 justice, and throughout his treatise avoided generally the use 
 of words which, like "right^' and " wrong/' seem to suggest the 
 idea of obligation. By the use of the words " proper'' and 
 *' improper,'^ or "meritorious," as applied to sentiments and
 
 A UTHORITY OF MORAL FA CUL TIES. 1 8 1 
 
 cnnduct^ he seems to have wished to convey the idea that he 
 did regard morality as relative to time, place, and circumstance, 
 as to a certain extent due to custom and convention, and not 
 as absolute, eternal, or immutable. Properly speaking, justice, 
 or the abstinence from injury to others, was, he held, the only 
 virtue which, as men had a right to exact it from us, it was 
 our duii) to practise towards them. The consciousness that 
 force might be employed to make us act according to the rules 
 of justice, but not according to the rules of any other virtues, 
 such as friendship, charity, or generosity, was the source of 
 the stricter obligation felt by us in reference to the virtue of 
 justice. '^ We feel ourselves," he said, " to be in a pecuHar 
 manner tied, bound, and obliged to the observation of jus- 
 tice," whilst the practice of the other virtues " seems to be 
 left in some measure to our own choice.^' " In the practice 
 of the other virtues, our conduct should rather be directed 
 by a certain kind of propriety, by a certain taste for a 
 particular tenor of conduct, than by any regard to a precise 
 rule or maxim ;'^ but it is otherwise with regard to justice, all 
 the rules of which ai*e precise, definite, and certain, and alone 
 admit of no exception. 
 
 As to the authority of our moral faculties, of our perception, 
 howsoever derived, of different qualities in conduct, it is, in 
 Adam Smith's sj'stem, an ultimate fact, as indisputable as the 
 authority of other faculties over their respective objects; for 
 example, as the authority of the eye about beauty of colour, or 
 as that of the ear about harmony of sounds. *' Our moral 
 faculties, our natural sense of merit and propriety," approve 
 or disapprove of actions instantaneously, and this approval or 
 judgment is their peculiar function. They judge of the other 
 faculties and principles of our nature; how far, for example, 
 love or resentment ought either to be indulged or restrained, 
 and when the various senses ouMit to be gratified. Hence
 
 1 82 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 they cannot be said to be on a level with our other natural 
 faculties and appetites^ and endowed with no more right to 
 restrain the latter than the latter are to restrain them. There 
 can be no more appeal from them about their objects thau 
 there is from the eye, or the ear, or the taste with regard to 
 tlie objects of their several jurisdictions. According as any- 
 thing is agreeable or not to them, is it fit, right, and proper, 
 or unfit, wrong, and improper. "The sentiments which they 
 approve of are graceful and becoming ; the contrary, ungraceful 
 and unbecoming. The very words, right, wrong, fit, proper, 
 graceful, or becoming, mean only what j^leases or displeases 
 those faculties." 
 
 Hence the question of the authority of our moral faculties 
 is as futile as the question of the authority of the special senses 
 over their several objects. For " they carry along with them 
 the most evident badges of this authority, which denote that 
 they were set up within us to be the supreme arbiter of all 
 our actions, to superintend all our senses, passions, and appe- 
 tites, and to judge how far either of them was either to be 
 indulged or restrained." That is to say, it is impossible for 
 our moral faculties to approve of one course of conduct and to 
 disapprove of another, and at the same time to feel that there 
 is no authority in the sentiment which passes judgment either 
 way. 
 
 Perhaps the part of Adam Smith's theory which has given 
 least satisfaction is his account of the ethical standard, or 
 measure of moral actions. This, it will be remembered, is 
 none other than the sympathetic emotion of the impartial 
 spectator — which seems again to resolve itself into the voice of 
 public opinion. It will be of interest to follow some of the 
 criticism that has been devoted to this point, most of which 
 turns on the meaning of the word imparilal. 
 
 If impartiality moans, argues Jouffroy, as alone it can mean
 
 THE A BS TRA CT SPECTA TOR . i S 3 
 
 impartiality of judgment, the impartiality of a spectator must 
 be the impartiality of bis reason, which rises superior to the 
 suggestions of his instincts or passions ; but if so, a moral 
 judgment no longer arises from a mere instinct of sympathy, 
 but from an operation of reason. If instinct is adopted as our 
 rule of moral conduct, there must be some higher rule by 
 which we make choice of some impulses against the influence 
 of others ; and the impartiality requisite in sympathy is itself 
 a recognition of the insufficiency of instinctive feelings to 
 supply moral rules. 
 
 It may be said, in reply to this, that by impartiality Adam 
 Smith meant neither an impartiality of reason nor of instinct, 
 but simply the indifference or coolness of a mind that feels not 
 the full strength of the original passion, wdiich it shares, and 
 which it shares in a due and just degree precisely because it 
 feels it not directly but by reflection. If the resentment of 
 A. can only fairly be estimated by the power of B. to sympa- 
 thize wath it, the latter is only impartial in so far as his feeling 
 of resentment is reflected and not original. His feelin<r of 
 approbation or disapprobation of A.'s resentment need be none 
 the less a feeling, none the less instinctive and emotional, 
 because he is exempt from the vividness of the passion as it 
 affects his friend. It is simply that exemption, Adam Smith 
 would say, which enables him to judge; and whether his 
 judgment is for that reason to be considered final and right or 
 not, it is, as a matter of fact, the only way in which a moral 
 judgment is possible at all. 
 
 The next objection of Jouffroy, that the sympathy of an 
 impartial spectator affords only variable rules of morality, 
 Adam Smith would have met by the answer, that the rules of 
 morality are to a certain extent variable, and dependent on 
 custom. Jouffroy supposes himself placed as an entire stranger 
 in the presence of a quantity of persons of different agLS,
 
 i84 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 sexesj and professions, and then asks, how should he judge of 
 the propriety of any eraotion on his part by reference to the 
 very different sympathies which such an emotion would 
 arouse. Lively sensibilities would partake of his emotions 
 vividly, cold ones but feebly. The synapathies of the men 
 would be different from those of the women, those of the 
 young- from those of the old, those of the merchant from those 
 of the soldier, and so forth. To this it might fairly be replied, 
 that as a matter of fact there are very few emotions with 
 which different people do not sympathize in very different 
 degrees, and of which accordingly they do not entertain very 
 different feelings of moral approbation or the reverse. Each 
 man's sympathy is in fact his only measure of the propriety 
 of other menu's sentiments, and for that reason it is that there 
 is scarcely any single moral action of which any two men 
 adopt the same moral sentiment. That morality is relative 
 and not absolute, Adam Smith nowhere denies. Nevertheless, 
 he would say, there is sufficient uniformity in the laws of 
 sympathy, directed and controlled as they are by custom, to 
 make the rule of general sympathy or of the abstract spectator 
 a sufficiently permanent standard of conduct. 
 
 It is moreover a fact, which no one has explained better 
 than Adam Smith, in his account of the growth in every indi- 
 vidual of the virtue of self-command, that though our moral 
 estimate of our own conduct begins by reference to the sym- 
 pathy of particular individuals, our parents, schoolfellows, or 
 others, we yet end by judging ourselves, not by reference to 
 any one in particular so much as from an abstract idea of 
 general approbation or the contrary, derived from our experi- 
 ence of particular judgments in the course of our life. This 
 is all that is meant by " the abstract spectator," reference to 
 whom is simply the same as reference to the supposed verdict 
 of public opinion. If we have done anything wrong, told a
 
 THE STANDARD OF MORALITY. i35 
 
 lie, for example, the self-condemnation we pass on ourselves is 
 the condemnation of public opinion, with which we identify 
 ourselves by long force of habit ; and had we never heard a lie 
 condemned, nor known it punished, we should feel no self-con- 
 demnation whatever in telling one. We condemn it, not by 
 reference, as Jouffroy puts it, to the feelings of John or Peter, 
 but by reference to the feelings of the general world, which we 
 know to be made up of people like John and Peter. There is 
 nothing inconsistent therefore in the notion of an abstract 
 spectator, " who has neither the prejudices of the one nor the 
 \veaknesses of the other, and who sees correctly and soundly 
 precisely because he is abstract." The identification of this 
 abstract spectator with conscience, is so far from being, as 
 Jouffroy says it is, a departure from, and an abandonment of 
 the rule of sympathy, that it is its logical and most satisfac- 
 tory development. There is no reason to repeat the process 
 by which the perception of particular approving sympathies 
 passes into identification with the highest rules of morality 
 and the most sacred dictates of religion. By reference to his 
 own experience, every reader may easily test for himself the 
 truth or falsity of Adam Smith's argument upon this 
 subject. 
 
 It is said with truth, that to make the judgment of an im- 
 partial or abstract spectator the standard of morality is to 
 make no security against fallibility of judgment; and that 
 such a judgment is only efiieacious where there is tolerable 
 unanimity, but that it fails in the face of possible differences 
 of opinion. But this objection is equally true of any ethical 
 standard ever yet propounded in the world, whether self- 
 interest, the greatest possible happiness, the will of the sove- 
 reign, the fitness of things, or any other principle is suggested 
 as the ultimate test of rectitude of conduct. This part of the 
 theory may claim, therefore, not only to be as good as any
 
 1 86 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 other theory, but to be in strict keeping- with the vast amount 
 of variable moral sentiment which actually exists in the 
 world. 
 
 In further disproof of Adam Smith's theory, Jouffroy 
 appeals to consciousness. We are not conscious, he says, in 
 judg-ing- of the acts of others, that we measure them by refer- 
 ence to our ability to sympathize with them. So far are we 
 from doing- this, that we consider it our first duty to stifle our 
 emotions of sympathy or antipathy^ in order to arrive at an 
 impartial judgment. As regards our own emotions, also, 
 there is no such recourse to the sympathies of others ; and even 
 when there is, we often prefer our own judgment after all to 
 that v.'hich we know to be the judgment of others. Conscious- 
 ness therefore attests the falsit}- of the theory that we seek 
 in our own sensibility the judgments we pass upon others, or 
 that we seek in the opinions of others the principle of estima- 
 tion for our own sentiments and conduct. 
 
 The truth of the fact stated in this objection may evidently 
 be conceded, and yet the validity of the main theory be left 
 untouched. The latter is a theory mainly of the origin of 
 moral feelings, and of their growth ; and emotions of sj'm- 
 pathy which originally give rise to moral feelings may well 
 disappear and be absent when long habit has once fixed them 
 in the mind. It is quite conceivable, for instance, that if 
 we originally derived our moral notions of our own conduct 
 from constant observation of the conduct of others, we might 
 yet come to judge ourselves by a standard apparently un- 
 connected with any reference to other people, and yet really 
 made up of a number of forgotten judgments passed by us 
 upon them. Children are always taught to judge them- 
 selves by appeals to the sentiments of their parents or other 
 relations about their conduct; and though the standard of 
 morality, thus external at first, may in time come to bj in-
 
 BROWN'S CRITICISM. 187 
 
 ternal, and even to be more potent than when it was ex- 
 ternal, it none the more follows that recourse to such sym- 
 pathy never took place because it ceases to take place or to 
 be noticed when the moral sentiments are fully formed. 
 In learning" to read and write, an exactly analog-ous process 
 may be traced. The letters which so painfully affected our con- 
 sciousness at first, when we had to make constant reference 
 to the alphabet, cease at last to affect it at all j yet the pro- 
 cess of spelling really g-oes on in the mind in every word we 
 read or write, however unconscious we may be of its operation. 
 Habit and experience, says Adam Smith, teach us so easily 
 and so readily to view our own interests and those of others 
 from the standpoint of a third person, that " we are scarce 
 sensible" of such a process at all. 
 
 Then again, the question has been raised. Is it true that 
 sympathy with an agent or with the object of his action is a 
 necessaiy antecedent to all moral approbation or the con- 
 trary ? 
 
 It is objected, for instance, by Brown, that sympathy is not 
 a perpetual accompaniment of our observation of all the 
 actions that take place in life, and that many cases occur in 
 which we feel approval or disapproval, in which consequently 
 moral estimates are made, and yet without any preceding 
 sympathy or antipathy. "In the number of petty affairs 
 which are hourly before our eyes, what sympathy is felt,^' he 
 asks, " either with those who are actively or with those who 
 are passively concerned, when the agent himself performs his 
 little offices with emotions as slight as those which the 
 objects of his actions reciprocally feel ? Yet in these cases we 
 are as capable of judging, and approve or disapprove — not with 
 the same liveliness of emotion indeed, but with as accurate 
 estimation of merit or demerit — as when we consider the most 
 heroic sacrifices which the virtuous can make^ or the most
 
 1 88 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 atrocious crimes of which the sordid and the cruel can be 
 guilty/^ There must be the same sympathy in the case of 
 the humblest action we denominate right as in that of the 
 most glorious action ; yet such actions often excite no sym- 
 pathy whatever. Unless therefore the common transactions 
 of life are to be excluded altogether from morality, from the 
 field of right and wrong, it is impossible to ascribe such moral 
 qualities to them^ if sympathy is the source of our approval of 
 them. 
 
 To this objection, founded on the non-universality of sym- 
 pathy, and on its not being coextensive with feelings of moral 
 approbation, Adam Smith might have replied, that there was 
 no action, howsoever humble, denominated right, in which 
 there was not or had not been to start with a reference to 
 sentiments of sympathy. It is impossible to conceive any 
 case in the most trivial department of life in which approba- 
 tion on the ground of goodness may not be explained by 
 reference to such feelings. Brown himself lays indeed less 
 stress on this argument than on another which has, it must 
 be confessed, much greater force. 
 
 Tliat is, that the theory of sympathy assumes as already 
 existing those moral feelings which it professes to explain. 
 If, he says, no moral sentiments preceded a feeling of sym- 
 pathy, the latter could no more produce them than a mirror, 
 without pre-existence and pre-supposition of light, could 
 reflect the beautiful colours of a landscape. 
 
 If we had no principle of moral approbation previous to 
 sympathy, the most perfect sympathy or accordance of passions 
 would prove nothing more than a mere agreement of feeling; 
 nor should we be aware of anything more than in any case of 
 coincidence of feeling with regard to mere objects of taste, 
 . such as a picture or an air of music. It is not because we 
 sympathize with the sentiments of an agent that we account
 
 5 YMPA TH Y A ND A PPR OB A TION, i ^'.^ 
 
 tlieiii moral, but it is because his moral sentiments agree wit'i 
 our own that we sjanpathize with them. The morality is 
 there before tlie sjnnpath}'. If we regard sentiments wiiich 
 differ from our own^ not merely as unlike our own, but as 
 morally improper and wrong, we must first have conceived 
 our own to be morally proper and right, by which we measure 
 those of others. "Without this previous belief in the moral 
 propriety of our own sentiments, we could never judge of the 
 propriety or impropriety of others, nor regard them as morally 
 unsuitable to the circumstances out of which they arose. 
 Hence the S3'mpathy from which we are said to derive our 
 notions of propriety or the contrary assumes independently of 
 sympathy the very feelings it is said to occasion. 
 
 A similar criticism Brown also applies to that sympathy 
 with the gratitude of persons who have received benefits or 
 injiiries which is said to be the source of feelings of merit and 
 demerit. If it is true that our sense of the merit of an agent 
 is due to our sympathy with the gratitude of those he has 
 benefited — if the sj'mpathy only transfuses into our own 
 breasts the gratitude or resentment of persons so affected, it is 
 evident that our reflected gratitude or resentment can only 
 give rise to the same sense of merit or demerit that has been 
 already involved in the primary and direct gratitude or resent- 
 ment. " If our reflex gratitude and resentment involve 
 notions of merit and demerit, the original gratitude and 
 resentment which we feel by reflexion must in like manner 
 have involved them. . . . But if the actual gratitude or re- 
 sentment of those who have profited or sufl'ered impl}^ no 
 feelings of merit or demerit, we may be certain, at least, that 
 in whatever source we are to strive to discover those feelings, 
 it is not in the mere reflexion of a fainter gratitude or resent- 
 ment that we can hope to find them. . . . The feelings with 
 which we sympathize are themselves moral feelings or senti-
 
 190 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 ments ; or if they are not moral feelings, the reflexion of 
 them from a thousand breasts cannot alter their nature/^ 
 
 Unless therefore we already possessed moral feeling's of onr 
 own, the most exact sympathy of feelings could do no more 
 than tell us of the similarity of our own feelings to those of 
 some other person, which they might equally do whether they 
 were vicious or virtuous ; and in the same way, the most 
 complete dissonance of feeling could supply us with no more 
 than a consciousness of the dissimilarity of our emotions. As 
 a coincidence of taste with regard to a work of art pre-sup- 
 po?es in any two minds similarly affected by it an inde- 
 pendent susceptibility of emotions, distinguishing what is 
 beautiful from what is ugly, irrespectively of others being 
 present to share them ; so a coincidence of fueling with regard 
 to any moral action pre-supposes an independent capacity in 
 the two minds similarly affected by them of distinguishing 
 what is right from what is wrong, a capacity which each 
 would have singly, irrespectively of all reference to the feel- 
 ings of the other. There is something more that we recog- 
 nize in our moral sentiments than the mere coincidence of 
 feeling recognized in an agreement of taste or opinion. We 
 feel that a person has acted not merel}'^ as we should have 
 done, and that his motives have been similar to those we 
 should have felt, but that he has acted rightly and 
 properly. 
 
 It is perhaps best to state Brown^s criticism in his own 
 words : " All which is peculiar to the sympathy is, that 
 instead of one mind only affected with certain feelings, there 
 are two minds affected with certain feelings, and a recogni- 
 tion of the similarity of these feelings; a similarity which far 
 from being confined to our moral emotions, may occur as 
 readily and as frequently in every other feeling of which the 
 mind is susceptible. What produces the moral notions there-
 
 MORAL IDEAS PRIOR TO SYMPATHY. 151 
 
 fore must evidently be something" more than a recog-nition cf 
 similarity of feeling- which is thus common to feelings cif 
 every class. There must be an independent capacity of moral 
 emotion, in consequence of which we judg-e those sentiments 
 of conduct io be right which coincide with sentiments of con- 
 duct previously recog'nized as right — or the sentiments of 
 others to be improper, because they are not in unison with 
 those which we previously recognized as proper. Sympathy 
 then may be the diffuser of moral sentiments, as of various 
 other feelings ; but if no moral sentiments exist jireviously to 
 our sympathy, our sympathy itself cannot give rise to 
 them." 
 
 The same inconsistency Brown detects in Adam Smith's 
 theory of moral sentimi^nts relating to our own conduct, 
 according to which it would be impossible for us to distinguish 
 without reference to the feelings of a real or imaginary spec- 
 tator any difference of piopricty or impropriety, merit or 
 demerit, in our own actions or character. If an impartial 
 spectator can thus discover merit or demerit in us by making 
 our case his own and assuming our feelings, those feelings 
 which he thus makes his own must surely speak to us to the 
 same purpose, and with even greater effect than they speak to 
 him. In no case then can sympathy give any additional 
 knowledge : it can only give a wider diffusion to feelings 
 which already exist. 
 
 It is therefore, according to Brown, as erroneous in ethics 
 to ascribe moral feelings to sj'mpathy, or the mental reflection 
 by which feelings are diffused, as it would be, in a theory of 
 the source of light, to ascribe light itself to the reflection 
 which involves its existence. *' A mirror presents to us a 
 fainter copy of external things ; but it is a copy which it pre- 
 sents. We are in like manner to each other mirrors that re- 
 flect from breast to breast, joy, sorrow, indignation, and all tlie
 
 192 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 vivid emotions of which the individual mind is susceptible ; 
 but thoug-h, as mirrors, we mutually give and receive emotions, 
 these emotions must have been felt before they could be com- 
 municated." 
 
 The objection contained in this analogy of the mirror is 
 perhaps more fatal to the truth of Adam Smith's theory than 
 any other. If a passion arises in every one analogous to, 
 though weaker than, the original passion of the person 
 primarily affected by it; if, for instance, by this force of 
 fellow-feeling we enter into or approve of another person's 
 resentment or gratitude ; it seems clear that the original 
 gratitude or resentment must itself involve, irrespective 
 of all sympathy, those feelings of moral approbation, or the 
 contrary, which it is asserted can only arise by sympatliy. 
 It is impossible to state this objection more clearly than in 
 the words already quoted from Brown. But when the latter 
 insists on the irregular nature of sympathy as the basis of 
 morality — on its tendency to vary even in the same individual 
 many times in the day, so that what was virtuous in the 
 morning might seem vicious at noon, it is impossible to 
 recognize the justice of the criticism. Adam Smith might 
 fairly have replied, that the educational forces of life, which 
 are comprised in ordinary circumstances and surroundings, 
 and which condition all sympathy, were sufficiently uniform 
 in character to ensure tolerable uniformity in the result, and 
 to give to our notions of morality all that appearance of 
 certainty and sameness which undoubtedly belongs to them. 
 
 Adam Smith seems himself to have anticipated one of the 
 difficulties raised in Brown's criticism, namely, the relation of 
 moral approbation to the approbation of another person's taste 
 or opinions. Why should the feeling of approbation be of a 
 different kind when we sympathize with a person's sentiments 
 or actions than when we sympathize with his intellectual
 
 INTELLECTUA L A ND MORA L A GREEMEN 7. 1 9 3 
 
 judgrnents ? The feel'ing of S3-minithy being' the same in 
 either case, why should the feeling of resultant approlatlon 
 be different? 
 
 No one eould state more clearly than does Adam Smith the 
 analogy there is between eoineidence of moral sentiment and 
 coincidence of intellectual opinion ; nor is anj'thing more 
 definite in his theory than that approval of the moral senti- 
 ments of othei's, like approval of their opinions, means 
 nothing more than their agreement with our own. The 
 following are his words : " To approve of another man's 
 opinions is to adopt those opinions, and to adopt them is to 
 approve of them. If the same arguments which convince you 
 convince me likewise, I necessarily approve of your convic- 
 tion ; and if they do not, I necessarily disapprove of it ; 
 neither can I possibly conceive that I should do the one 
 without th.e other. To approve or disapprove, therefore, of 
 the opinions is acknowledged by everybody to mean no more 
 than to observe their agreement or disagreement with our 
 own. But this is equally the case with regard to our appro- 
 bation or disapprobation of the sentiments or passions of 
 others." 
 
 Whence, then, comes the stronger feeling of approbntion in 
 the case of agreement of sentiments than in that of agreement 
 of opinion? Why do we esteem a man whose moral senti- 
 ments seem to accord with our own, whilst we do not 
 necessarily esteem him simply for the accordance of his 
 opinions with our own ? Wliy in the one case do we ascribe 
 to him the qtiality of rightness or rectitude, and in the other 
 on!}' the qualities of good taste or good judgment? To quote 
 Brown once more : " If mere accordance of emotion imply 
 the feeling of moral excellence of an}' sort, we should cer- 
 tainly feel a moral regard for all vvliose taste coincides with 
 ours; yetj however gratifying the sympathy in such a case 
 
 o
 
 194 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 may be, we do not feel, in consequence of this sympathy, any 
 morality in the taste which is most exactly accordant with our 
 own.'^ " 
 
 Adam Smith's answer is, that matters of intellectual 
 agreement touch us much less nearly than circumstances of 
 behaviour which affect ourselves or the person we judge of; 
 that we iook at such things as the size of a mountain or the 
 expression of a picture from the same point of view, and 
 therefore that we agree or disagree without that imaginary 
 change of situation which is the foundation of moral sym- 
 pathy. The stronger feeling of approbation in the one case 
 than in the other arises from the personal element, which 
 influences our judgment of another person's conduct, and 
 which is absent in our judgment of his opinions about things. 
 It will be best again to let Adam Smith spcalc for himself. 
 
 " Though," he says, '' you despise that jncture, or that 
 poem, or even that system of ])hiloso2:)h3^ whi"h I admire, 
 there is little danger of our quarrelling upon that account. 
 Neither of us can reasonably be much interested about them. 
 They ought all of them to be matters of great indifference to 
 us both ; so that, though our opinions may be opposite, our 
 affections may still be very nearly the same. But it is quite 
 otherwise with regard to those objects by which either you or 
 I are i)articularly affected. Though your judgments in 
 matters of speculation, though your sentiments in matters 
 of taste, ai'e quite opposite to mine, I can easily overlook this 
 opposition ; and, if I have any degree of temper, I may still 
 find some entertainment in your conversation, even upon those 
 very subjects. BuL if you have either no lellow-f'eeling for 
 the misfortunes I have met with, or none which bears any 
 proportion to the grief which distracts me; or if you have 
 either no indignation at the injuries I have suffered, or none 
 that bears any proportion to the resentment which transports
 
 EMOTIONAL AND MORAL SYMPATHY. 195 
 
 me, we can no lonc^er converse upon these subjects. We 
 become intolerable to one another. I can neither support 
 youi' company, nor you mine. You are confounded at my 
 violence and passion, and I am enraged at your cold insen- 
 sibility and want of feeling-." 
 
 Accordingly, we only regard the sentiments which we 
 share as moral, or the contrary, when they afFect another 
 person or ourselves in a peculiar manner; when they bear no 
 relation to either of us, no moral propriety is recognized in a 
 mere agreement of feeling. It is obvious that this explana- 
 tion, to which Brown pays no attention whatever, is satis- 
 factory to a certain point. A plain, or a mountain, or a 
 picture, are matters about which it is intelligible that agree- 
 ment or difference should give rise to very different feelings 
 from those produced by a case of dishonesty, excessive anger, 
 or untruthi'ulncss. Being objects so different in their nature, 
 it is only natural that they should give rise to very different 
 sentiments. Independently of all sympathy, admiration of a 
 picture or a mountain is a very different thing from admi- 
 ration of a generous action or a display of courage. The 
 language of all men has observed the difference, and the 
 admiration in the one case is with perfect reason called wzora/, 
 to distinguish it from the admiration which arises in the 
 other. But when Adam Smith classes " the conduct of a 
 third person " among things which, like the beauty of a plain 
 or the size of a mountain, need no imaginary change of 
 situation on the part of observers to be approved of by them, 
 he inadvertently deserts his own principle, which, if this were 
 true, would fail to account for the approbation of actions done 
 long ago, in times or places unrelated to the approver. 
 
 But, even ii Adam Smith's explanation with regard to the 
 difference of approbation felt where conduct is concerned from 
 that felt in matters of taste or opinion be accepted as satis- 
 
 o %
 
 196 ADAM SMITH, 
 
 factory^ it is strang-e that he should not have seen the diffi- 
 culty of accounting by his theory for the absence of anything 
 like moral approbation in a number of cases where sj'mpathy 
 none the less strongly impels us to share and enter into the 
 emotions of another person. For instance, if we see a man in 
 imminent danger of his life — pursued by a bull or seeming to 
 fall from a tight rope — though we may fully sympathize with 
 his real or pretended fear, in neither case do we for that 
 reason morally approve of it. In the same way, we may 
 sympathize with or enter into any other emotion he manifests 
 ■ — his love, his hope, or his joy — without any the more 
 approving them or passing any judgment on them whatever 
 Sympathy has been well defined as " a species of involuntary 
 imitation of the displays of feeling enacted in our presence, 
 which is followed by the rise of the feelings themselves/^* 
 Thus we become affected with whatever the mental state may 
 be that is manifested by the expressed feelings of another 
 person ; but unless his emotion already contains the element 
 of moral approbation, or the contrary, as in a case of gratitude 
 or resentment, the mere fact of sympathy will no more give 
 rise to it than will sympathy with another person's fear give 
 rise to any moral approval of it. It is evident, therefore, that 
 sympathy does not necessarily involve approbation, and that 
 it only involves jHora^ approbation where the sentiments shared 
 by sympathy belong to the class of emotions denominated 
 moral. 
 
 What, then, is the real relation between sympathy ana 
 approbation ? and to what extent is the fact of sympathy au 
 ex])lanation of the fact of approbation ? 
 
 It is difficult to read AJam Smithes account of the iden- 
 tification of sympathy aiid approbation, without feeling that 
 throughout his argument there is an unconscious play upon 
 6 Bain, M'jntal and Moral Science, p 277.
 
 5 VJfPA TH Y AND A PPR OB A TION. 1 97 
 
 words, and that an equivocal use of the word " sympathy " 
 lends all its speciousness to the theory he expounds. The first 
 meaning of the word sympathy is fellow-feeling-, or the par- 
 ticipation of another person's emotion, in which sense we may 
 be said to sympathize with another person's hope or fear; the 
 second meaning- contains the idea of approval or praise, in 
 which sense we may be said to sympathize with another person's 
 gratitude or resentment. Adam Smith begins by using the 
 word sympathy in its first and primary sense, as meaning par- 
 ticipation in another person's feelings, and then proceeds to 
 use it in its secondary and less proper sense, in which the idea 
 of approbation is involved. But the sympathy in the one case 
 is totally different from the sympathy in the other. In the 
 one case a mere state of feeling is intended, in the other a 
 judgment of reason. To share another person's feeling belongs 
 only to our sensibility; to approve of it as proper, good, and 
 right, implies the exercise of our intelligence. To employ 
 the word "sympathy" in its latter use (as it is sometimes 
 employed in popular parlance) is simply to employ it as a 
 synonym for "approbation;" so that sympathy, instead of 
 being really the source of approbation, is only another word 
 for that approbation itself. To say that we approve of another 
 person's sentiments when we sympathize with them is, there- 
 fore, nothing more than saying that we approve of them when 
 we approve of them — a purely tautological proposition. 
 
 It cannot therefore be said that Adam Smith's attempt to 
 trace the feeling of moral approbation to emotions of sympathy 
 is altogether successful, incontestable as is the truth of his apjili- 
 cation of it to many of the phenomena of life and conduct. 
 Yet although sympathy is not the only factor in moral appro- 
 bation, it is one that enters very widely into the growth of 
 our moral perceptions. It plays, for instance, an important 
 part in evolving in us that sense of right and wrong which is
 
 198 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 generally known as Conscience or the Moral Faculty. It is one 
 of the elements, just as self-love is another, in that ever-forming 
 chain of association which goes to distinguish one set of 
 actions as good from another set of actions as bad. Our 
 observation in others of the same outward symptoms which 
 we know in our own case to attend joy or grief, pleasure or 
 pain, leads us by the mere force of the remembrance of our own 
 pleasures and pains; and independently of any control of our 
 will, to enter into those of other people, and to promote 
 as much as we can the one and prevent the other. 
 
 Sympathy accordingly is the source of all disinterested 
 motives in action, of our readiness to give up pleasures and 
 incur pains for the sake of others ; and Adam Smith was so 
 far right, that he established, by reference to this force of our 
 sympathetic emotions, the reality of a disinterested element as 
 the foundation of our benevolent affections. In the same way, 
 self-love is the source of all the prudential side of morality; 
 and to the general formation of our moral sentiments, all owr 
 other emotions, such as anger, fear, love, contribute together 
 with sympathy, in lesser perhaps but considerable degree. 
 None of them taken singly would suffice to account for 
 moral approbation. 
 
 Although any action that hurts another person may so 
 affect our natural sympathy as to give rise to the feeling of 
 disapprobation involved in sympathetic resentment, and 
 although an action that is injurious to ourselves may also be 
 regarded with similar feelings of dislike, the constant pressure 
 of authority, exercised as it is by domestic education, by 
 government, by law, and by punishment, must first be 
 brought to bear on such actions before the feeling of moral 
 disapprobation can arise with regard to them. The associa- 
 tion of the pain of punishnunt with certain actions, and the 
 association of the absence of such pain (a negative pleasure)
 
 GRO WTH OF MORA L A PPR OB A TION. 1 99 
 
 with certain others, enforces the natural dictates of our 
 sympathetic or selfish emotions, and impresses on them the 
 character of morality, of oblig-iition, and of duty. The associa- 
 tion is so close and constant, that in course of time the feeling 
 of the approbation or disapprobation of certain actions becomes 
 perfectly independent of the various means, necessary at first 
 to enforce or to prevent them; just as in many other cases our 
 likes and dislikes become free of the associations which first 
 permanently fixed them. 
 
 In this way the feeling- of moral approbation is seen to be 
 the product of time and slow g-rowth of circumstance, a phe- 
 nomenon to which both reason and sentiment contribute in 
 equal shares in accordance with the laws that' condition their 
 development. Lloral approbation is no more given instan- 
 taneously by sympathy than it is given instantaneously by a 
 moral sense. Sympathy is merely one of the conditions 
 under which it is evolved, one of the feelings which assist in 
 its formation. It is indeed the feeling on which, more than 
 on any other, the moral agencies existing in the world build up 
 and confirm the notions of right and wrong; but it does of 
 itself nothing more than translate feelings from one mind to 
 another, and unless there is a pre-existent moral element in 
 the feeling so translated, the actual passage will not give rise 
 to it. Sympathy enables one man^s fear, resentment, or 
 gratitude to become another man's fear, resentment, or grati- 
 tude ; but the feeling of moral approbation which attends 
 emotions so diffused, arises from reference to ideas otherwise 
 derived than from a purely involuntary sympathy — from refer- 
 ence, that is, to a standard set up by custom and opinion. A 
 child told for the first time of a murder might so far enter by 
 sympathy into the resentment of the victim as to feel indig- 
 nation prompting him to vengeance ; but his idea of the 
 murder itself as a wronff and wicked act — his idea of it as a
 
 200 ADAM SMITH. 
 
 deed morally worse than the slaughter of a sheep hy a butcher, 
 would only arise as tlie result of the various forces of edu- 
 cation, availing themselves of the original law of sympathy, 
 by which an act disagreeable to ourselves seems disagreeable 
 in its application to others. And what is true in this case, 
 the extreme form of moral disapprobation, is no less true in all 
 the minor cases, in which approbation or the contrary is felt. 
 
 The feeling of moral approbation is therefore much more 
 complex than it is in Adam Smithes theory. Above all things 
 it is one and indivisible, and it is impossible to distinguish 
 our morol judgments of ourselves from our judgments of 
 others. There is an obvious inconsistency in saying that we 
 can only judge of other people^s sentiments and actions by 
 reference to our own power to sympathize with them, and yet 
 tliat we can only judge of our own by reference to the same 
 power in them. The moral standard cannot primarily exist 
 in ourselves, and yet, at the same time, be only derivable from 
 without. If by the hypothesis moral feelings relating to our- 
 selves only exist by prior reference to the feelings of others, 
 how can we at the same time form any moral judgment 
 of the feelings of others by reference to any feelings of our 
 own ? 
 
 But although the two sides of moral feeling are thus really 
 indistinguishable, the feeling of self-approbation or the con- 
 trary may indeed be so much stronger than our feeling of 
 approval or disappi-oval of others as to justify the application 
 to it of such terms as Conscience, Shame, E,emorse. The 
 difference of feeling, however, is only one of degree, and in 
 either case, whether our own conduct or that of others is 
 under review, the moral feeling that arises is due to the force 
 of education and opinion acting upon the various emotions 
 of our nature. For instance, a jNIohammcdan woman seen 
 without a veil would have the same feeling of remorse or
 
 FOR CE OF ED UCA TIO.V. 20 1 
 
 of moral disapprobation with regard to herself that she would 
 have with regard to any other woman whom she might see in 
 the same condition, though of course in a less strong degree. 
 In either case her feeling would he a result of all the com- 
 plex surroundings of her life, which is UKjant by education in 
 its broadest sense. Sympathy itself would be insufficient to 
 explain the feeling, though it might help to explain how it 
 was developed. All that sympathy could do would be tc 
 extend the dread of punishment associated by the woman 
 herself with a breach of the law, to all women who might 
 offend in a similar way ; thehriginal feeling of the immorality 
 of exposure being accountable for in no other way than by its 
 association with punishment, ordained by civil or religious 
 law, or by social custom, and enforced by the discipline of 
 early home life. It is obvious that the same explanation 
 applies to all cases in which moral disapprobation is felt, and 
 conversely to all cases in which the sentiment of mural 
 approbation arises.
 
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 Edited by IWAN MULLER, A.M., 
 
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 IVhix'.
 
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 and Nations, for Universal Reference. By Benjamin Vin- 
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 " Characterized by comprehensiveness, learning, candor, and sense."' — Christian 
 
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 PUTNAM. The Best Reading. A Classified Bibliography 
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 on the Formation of Libraries, public and private ; on Courses of 
 Reading, etc. A Guide for the Librarian, Bookbuyer, and Book- 
 seller. The Classified Lists, arranged under about 500 subject head- 
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 ARMITAGE (E. S.) The Childhood of the English Nation ; 
 or. The Beginnings of English History. i2mo, cloth, i 25 
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 "The author has thought out her subject honestly and thoroughly, and has 
 given us the result in a clear and attractive shape " — Saturday Ret'ieiu.
 
 ^ CENTRAL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 University of California, San Diego 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 JUN 11 '^<iJ 
 
 
 APR 27 1983 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 €139 
 
 UCSD Libr.
 
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