Reading Adam Smith's The Theory of Moral Sentiments 7 (penultimate)

Control yourself

I am reading Adam Smith’s The Theory of Moral Sentiments, first published in 1759 - my interest is in trying to get a better understanding of contemporary ethics (not in the sense of moral theory, but in the sense of how we actually behave, how we treat one another) especially when we have just had half the country elect as president someone so unabashedly amoral. My most recent post is here, and you can read TMS here. Today I have been reading Parts V and VI.

In these pages Smith detours into social and political observations before returning to his principal concern - as Smith wanders a bit here I will apologize: so do I. In Part V he looks to how people conduct themselves in different parts of the world, noting that other societies have their own versions of the impartial spectator, and as such have different expectations for what constitutes propriety: he relies on stereotypes of stoic Native Americans and emotional Southern Europeans, but does not insist these peoples are unreasonable in how they express themselves in the face of hardship, just different.

But in Part VI he returns home to look at how his own countrymen behave, and evaluate one another.

The prudent person is one who is able to manage their own affairs, and care for their own families, with diligence and consideration:

In the steadiness of his industry and frugality, in his steadily sacrificing the ease and enjoyment of the present moment for the probable expectation of the still greater ease and enjoyment of a more distant but more lasting period of time, the prudent man is always both supported and rewarded by the entire approbation of the impartial spectator, and of the representative of the impartial spectator, the man within the breast. …

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 permit, to his own affairs, and has no taste for that foolish importance which many people wish to derive from appearing to have some influence in the management of those of other people: he is averse to enter into any party disputes, hates faction, and is not always very forward to listen to the voice even of noble and great ambition. When distinctly called upon, he will not decline the service of his country; 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 only to all the vain splendour of successful ambition, but to the real and solid glory of performing the greatest and most magnanimous actions.

Prudence, in short, when directed merely to the care of the health, of the fortune, and of the rank and reputation of the individual, though it is regarded as a most respectable, and even, in some degree, as an amiable and agreeable quality, yet it never is considered as one either of the most endearing or of the most ennobling of the virtues. It commands a certain cold esteem, but seems not entitled to any very ardent love or admiration.

That took a turn - “a certain cold esteem” - I did not expect. Our “ardent love or admiration” is reserved for the man of beneficence. The one who in addition to being prudent in his personal and family affairs, gives something to his fellow citizens.

Smith thinks it is wholly natural that we care more for people in our own country than for those in other places, and that it is not a bad thing, since it is at home we can do the most direct good:

The love of our own country seems not to be derived from the love of mankind. The former sentiment is altogether independent of the latter, and seems sometimes even to dispose us to act inconsistently with it. France may contain, perhaps, near three times the number of inhabitants which Great Britain contains. In the great society of mankind, therefore, the prosperity of France should appear to be an object of much greater importance than that of Great Britain. The British subject, however, who upon that account should prefer upon all occasions the prosperity of the former to that of the latter country, would not be thought a good citizen of Great Britain. We do not love our country merely as a part of the great society of mankind—we love it for its own sake, and independently of any such consideration. That wisdom which contrived the system of human affections, as well as that of every 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 his abilities and of his understanding.

But what then does effective beneficence look like? This is where Smith gives his political philosophy, and it is something in what became the tradition in English conservative thought, from Burke through Oakeshott, anti-rationalist, let Chesterton’s fences be:

Amidst the turbulence and disorder of faction, a certain spirit of system is apt to mix itself with that public spirit which is founded upon the love of humanity, upon a real fellow-feeling with the inconveniencies and distresses to which some of our fellow-citizens may be exposed. This spirit of system commonly takes the direction of that more gentle public spirit, always animates it, and often inflames it, even to the madness of fanaticism. The leaders of the discontented party seldom fail to hold out some plausible plan of reformation, which, they pretend, will not only remove the inconveniencies and relieve the distresses immediately complained of, but will prevent in all time coming any return of the like inconveniencies and distresses. They often propose, upon this account, to new-model the constitution, and to alter in some of its most essential parts that system of government under which the subjects of a great empire have enjoyed, perhaps, peace, security, and even glory, during the course of several centuries together. The great body of the party are commonly intoxicated with the imaginary beauty of this ideal system, of which they have no experience, but which has been represented to them in all the most dazzling colours in which the eloquence of their leaders could paint it. Those leaders themselves, though they originally may have meant nothing but their own aggrandizement, become, many of them, in time the dupes of their own sophistry, and are as eager for this great reformation as the weakest and foolishest of their followers. Even though the leaders should have preserved their own heads, as, indeed, they commonly do, free from this fanaticism, yet they dare not always disappoint the expectation of their followers, but are often obliged, though contrary to their principle and their conscience, to act as if they were under the common delusion. The violence of the party refusing all palliatives, all temperaments, all reasonable accommodations, by requiring too much, frequently obtains nothing; and those inconveniencies and distresses which, with a little moderation, might, in a great measure, have been removed and relieved, are left altogether without the hope of a remedy.

The man whose public spirit is prompted altogether by humanity and benevolence, will respect the established powers and privileges even of individuals, and still more those of the great orders and societies into which the state is divided. Though he should consider some of them as in some measure abusive, he will content himself with moderating, what he often cannot annihilate without great violence.

What prudence in personal affairs and beneficence in the public world both require, is self-command. This is what the impartial spectator admires, this is what we admire in others, it is how we would like to be seen by our peers: someone who does not give in to temptations, to uncontrolled emotion.

Concern for our own happiness recommends to us the virtue of prudence; concern for that of other people, the virtues of justice and beneficence—of which the one restrains us from hurting, the other prompts us to promote that happiness. Independent of any regard either to what are or to what ought to be, or to what upon a certain condition would be the sentiments of other people, the first of those three virtues is originally recommended to us by our selfish, the other two by our benevolent affections. Regard to the sentiments of other people, however, comes afterwards both to enforce and to direct the practice of all those virtues; and no man, during either the whole course of his life or that of any considerable part of it, ever trod steadily and uniformly in the paths of prudence, of justice, or of proper beneficence, whose conduct was not principally directed by a regard to the sentiments of the supposed impartial spectator, of the great inmate of the breast, the great judge and arbiter of conduct. If in the course of the day we have swerved in any respect from the rules which he prescribes to us; if we have either exceeded or relaxed in our frugality: if we have either exceeded or relaxed in our industry; if through passion or inadvertency we have hurt in any respect the interest or happiness of our neighbour; if we have neglected a plain and proper opportunity of promoting that interest and happiness—it is this inmate who in the evening calls us to an account for all those omissions and violations, and his reproaches often make us blush inwardly, both for our folly and inattention to our own happiness, and for our still greater indifference and inattention, perhaps, to that of other people.

But though the virtues of prudence, justice, and beneficence, may upon different occasions be recommended to us almost equally by two different principles; those of self-command are, upon most occasions, principally and almost entirely recommended to us by one—by the sense of propriety, by regard to the sentiments of the supposed impartial spectator. Without the restraint which this principle imposes, every passion would upon most occasions rush headlong, if I may say so, to its own gratification. Anger would follow the suggestions of its own fury—fear those of its own violent agitations. Regard to no time or place would induce vanity to refrain from the loudest and most impertinent ostentation; or voluptuousness from the most open, indecent, and scandalous indulgence. Respect for what are, or for what ought to be, or for what, upon a certain condition, would be the sentiments of other people, is the sole principle which upon most occasions overawes all those mutinous and turbulent passions into that tone and temper which the impartial spectator can enter into and sympathize with.

Smith understands how imperfect we are, that it is the rare person who is always in control. But he is articulating, I think, how most of us see ourselves and evaluate our own behavior, what Henry Sidgwick, in reading Smith, called a “morality of common sense.” When I look back upon all the different occasions and different ways I have behaved wrongly, it resulted from my not doing what in retrospect I see I might have done if I had had greater hold either on the emotions of the moment, or had in the longer term not given in to indulgence (I recognize the difficulty here: what about times I have behaved wrongly but haven’t yet recognized it as such?). “The great inmate of the breast, the great judge and arbiter of conduct” has seen me. This applies to actions that were not just against my self-interest, but that harmed others as well: the cruel remark, the failure to sympathize with someone going through a rough patch, elevating concerns with my own troubles out of proportion to what is called for, out of proportion to others.

The command of anger appears, upon many occasions, not less generous and noble than that of fear. The proper expression of just indignation composes many of the most splendid and admired passages both of ancient and modern eloquence. The Philippics of Demosthenes, the Catilinarians of Cicero, derive their whole beauty from the noble propriety with which this passion is expressed. But this just indignation is nothing but anger restrained and properly attempered to what the impartial spectator can enter into. The blustering and noisy passion which goes beyond this is always odious and offensive, and interests us, not for the angry man, but for the man with whom he is angry. The nobleness of pardoning appears, upon many occasions, superior even to the most perfect propriety of resenting. When either proper acknowledgments have been made by the offending party, or, even without any such acknowledgments, when the public interest requires that the most mortal enemies should unite for the discharge of some important duty, the man who can cast away all animosity, and act with confidence and cordiality towards the person who had most grievously offended him, seems justly to merit our highest admiration.

The impartial spectator, remember, is someone we imagine based upon our own reactions and sympathies when we observe others: what characteristics and actions are we drawn to, what things repel us? Based upon this we imagine how we are seen by others, and “by others” we invent this impartial spectator, who does not grant us exemptions or allowances that would not be given to anyone else. We are repelled when we see people acting out of control with anger, or with disdain towards those less fortunate in life than ourselves, or who have led a life of ease but complain about their imagined hardships. And when we remember our reactions to seeing these bad behaviors, we question our own actions.

Because of this, Smith does not really come up with a moral code, a set of rules for us to follow, except to say: imagine how you appear to others when you lack the self-command to be what you know, in the cool of reason, to be your better self. That’s it. We already know how to be good, because we know it when we see it in others, we are naturally drawn to it.

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I took to reading TMS to try to better understand our politics (and by “our” it’s worth saying that much of what we see in the US is also happening elsewhere). And so…

Consider this story from the New York Times (gift link), about a reception for Young Republicans:

Donald J. Trump “is a leader of all the people,” Mr. Bannon said. “He’s got a kind heart and big soul. But that’s not us, right? We want retribution. And we’re going to get retribution.” The Young Republicans cheered. …

“We want to throw the book at them because they deserve it, they’re godless demoniacs,” said Mr. Parra [“a 22-year old conservative influencer” [sic]). Who are the “them,” exactly? “The leftist, elitist cabal, whatever you want to call it,” he said. Anyone specific? “Nancy Pelosi,” he shrugged. “Mitch McConnell.”

This is … well, I’m not sure what to call it. A call for “retribution” where those wanting to “throw the book” are not really sure of the target, or of what the target has done, or, to use the words a judge might use, who don’t seem to have standing as people who have actually suffered harm. And as for the “We” who will be throwing the books, that amounts to someone else: I don’t see Mr. Parra throwing himself into any sort of danger for what he sees as the remedy. It is all, as Smith says, odious and offensive, an unearned indignation combined with a blustering and noisy passion.

There is no impartial spectator at that table, no inner voice, no filters.

Has all this become worse? I don’t think it is just nostalgic to think so. Trump is off the charts in any such discussion, so much so that he himself is not much worth discussing. He is awful, he puts his awfulness on display daily, he takes pride in it. There are no depths to plumb here - he is, when you come down to it, boring. It’s why he has resisted any attempts at satire.

So I don’t think all the focus should be on him - there’s not much to say. His hangers-on though, are different. The politicians in what is left of his political party vying for his attention and a reward, the CEO’s desperate for his favors, the Bannon-like blowhards, or the 22-year old influencers who want to get in on the racket - how will they look back on this era?

As for the more “ordinary” Trump voter - this is what I wrestle with. People who are angry at what they see as the state of affairs (often vastly at odds with the reality), voting for someone promising to put things right by punishing others - a faceless group of immigrants, or Washington office workers, or … somebody. Deport them, fire them, punish them. But voting for someone to “disrupt” for the sake of disruption, without really caring about the consequences - is that not a lack of self-command, an inability to take the business of democratic politics with the seriousness it warrants?