Rubbing Our Corners

Rubbing our Corners: Sympathy and Social Harmony in Smith and Shaftesbury

Douglas J. Den Uyl

The epigraph for the Third Earl of Shaftesbury’s essay “Soliloquy: or, Advice to An Author” is from Persius’ Satires and reads “and you need not have looked beyond yourself.” In an essay on sympathy, this might seem like the last notion one would want to put forward, given the inherently relational nature of sympathy. Yet where the self and the other intersect and part, influence and reject each other, has been a perennial philosophical subject. Perhaps, then, even in a context where sympathy is central, Shaftesbury’s epigraph has a role. It is certainly our intention to discuss such a possibility below. To do so we shall take a look at two authors, both of whom were significant writers in the 18^th century—a century that one might say was obsessed with sympathy¹ and sociality. Our two authors are Anthony Ashley Cooper, or the Third Earl of Shaftesbury, and Adam Smith. Both of these authors had a good deal to say about sympathy, with Smith making it a central concept in his Theory of Moral Sentiments.² It is clear both that Smith read Shaftesbury³ and was moved to comment on his work. But our purpose here goes beyond comparisons of two generally proximate and prominent thinkers. For while we shall show continuities between them, our stress in the end will be upon their differences as they relate to social cooperation and sympathy and what those differences might say to us today.

Shaftesbury and Antiquity

It should be noted at the outset that the standard history of thought on this period would typically see a more or less direct line from Shaftesbury to Smith.⁴ The so called “sentimentalist” school of ethical and social theory is said to come from Shaftesbury through Francis Hutcheson to David Hume and Adam Smith. There are reasons for holding that Shaftesbury is the progenitor of the sentimentalist school of ethics (which encompassed “moral sense” theory), but those reasons do not necessarily imply a similarity of approach among all the members said to be a part of that tradition. As I have argued elsewhere,⁵ Shaftesbury is engaged in a project of trying to apply the insights and frameworks of antiquity to the modern world. Smith, by contrast, is not an ancient in his philosophical framework, though he was certainly well-read and influenced by ancient authors.

At the root of the historical progression of sentimentalist ethics in the 18^th century stands Shaftesbury’s essay “An Inquiry concerning Virtue and Merit.” Perhaps more than any other essay in the Characteristicks,⁶ this essay (henceforth simply the “Inquiry”) shaped the discussion of moral and social theorizing during this century.⁷ However this particular essay of Shaftesbury’s may not be the central one in understanding his moral philosophy—hence the distinction between historical influence and doctrine just mentioned⁸ Because of its influence in engendering moral sense theory and sentimentalism generally, the classical nature of what I believe constitutes Shaftesbury’s moral theory gets lost or overlooked. One of our tasks here is to establish that the essay is consistent with the central features of a classical moral theory without denying that the essay had historical influences towards sentimentalism as we know it today. I would argue that the central components of a classical moral theory, such as one might find in Aristotle, would include the following: 1) a teleological framework, 2) the superiority of reason over sentiment, and 3) self-perfection as the central objective of moral action.

In a recent and insightful look into the argument of the Inquiry,⁹ Michael Gill offers a reading of the Inquiry that is both plausible and helpful in seeing the sort of influence upon ethical theory Shaftesbury had during the 18^th century. It is, however, a reading that differs from my own in its understanding of Shaftesbury’s position.¹⁰ Under Gill’s reading, while retaining some elements of classical ethics—namely, item 1 above—Shaftesbury ultimately moves out of the camp of classical ethical theorists, at least as understood under the three conditions just given. It is thus helpful to spend a moment on this alternative view as an aid in establishing our own. That in turn will help us in our contrast with Smith.

Gill opens his discussion of Shaftesbury’s ethics by claiming that for Shaftesbury morality was “equated with sociability.” There is plenty of textual evidence for this claim, and I would concur that the significant focus Shaftesbury gives to sociality would certainly have been instrumental in turning the 18^th century into the century of sociability. However, whether there is anything more here than Aristotle’s claim that we are by nature social animals seems to me debatable. Shaftesbury does go so far as to effectively say that “society is our end;”¹¹ but that alone does not contradict the notion of self-perfection as our telos, since sociality might be part of our self-perfection.

Gill holds that the Inquiry has “the honor of being the first moral sense theory” in Anglo-American philosophy.(88) However, this is immediately qualified in that Gill notes that Shaftesbury does have elements of rationalism in his moral philosophy which prevent one from placing him purely in the sentimentalist camp. One of the main reasons Gill wants to align Shaftesbury with the sentimentalists is that reason alone cannot motivate us to action. In this regard, Gill cites the following passage from Shaftesbury in support of his claim:(91)

It has been shewn before, that no Animal can be said properly to act, otherwise than thro Affections or Passions, such as are proper to an Animal….Whatsoever therefore is done or acted by any Animal as such, is done only thro some Affection or Passion, as of Fear, Love, or Hatred moving them….So that according as these Affections stand, a Creature must be virtuous or vitious, good or ill.(50)

But, of course, that reason alone cannot motivate is as old as Plato’s discussion in the Republic of the tripartite division of the soul and the impotency of reason without the aid of one or both of the other two parts. And that we have natural affections in certain directions is a standard part of the teleological story the classical moral framework encompasses. While “reason alone” was never sufficient to motivate for classical moral theorists, they seldom separated it out from affection when thinking of action. So there is nothing in this passage that requires us to deviate from the classical paradigm and support sentimentalism.

But Gill continues to justify his sentimentalist reading by describing Shaftesbury as a moral sense theorist and citing the passages where Shaftesbury does in fact use such terms. But the rationalism he attributes to Shaftesbury also creeps into this same discussion and leads Gill to claim that because of it Shaftesbury draws a distinction between goodness and virtue.(91ff) It is worth citing the two moral sense passages that Gill refers to(92):

So that if a Creature be generous, kind, constant, compassionate; yet if he cannot reflect on what he himself does, or sees others do, so as to take notice of what is worthy or honest; and make that Notice or Conception of Worth and Honesty to be an Object of his Affection; he has not the Character of being virtuous: for thus, and no otherwise, he is capable of having a Sense of Right or Wrong; a Sentiment or Judgment of what is done, thro’ just, equal, and good Affection, or the contrary.(18)

For notwithstanding a Man may thro’ Custom, or by licentiousness of Practice, favour’d by Atheism, come in time to lose much of his natural moral Sense;…(27)

Gill might have added other passages such as:

Much more is this the Mind’s Case in respect of that natural Affection and anticipating Fancy, which makes the sense of Right and Wrong. ‘Tis impossible that this can instantly, or without much Force and Violence, be effac’d, or struck out of the natural Temper, even by means of the most extravagant Belief or Opinion in the World.(26)

Or,

So that to want CONSCIENCE, or natural Sense, of the Odiousness of Crime and Injustice, is to be most of all miserable in life; but where Conscience, or Sense of this sort, remains; there, consequently, whatever is committed against it, must of necessity, by means of Reflection, as we have shewn, be continually shameful, grievous and offensive.(70)

Passages such as these could, of course, be read as describing the presence of a special “moral sense,” but the combination of affection with reason and self-consciousness in action is also completely consistent with classical moral theory. As we have noted, Plato saw reason and affection as a team, and in Aristotle reason always carried with it an affective dimension.¹² Modern philosophy since Descartes separates these dimensions of human nature and action, but as Gill himself notes, Shaftesbury was no fan of modern philosophy.¹³ Hence our “moral sense” need not be read as a special moral faculty, but may rather be nothing more than a consequence of utilizing the reason that is coupled to our affections and our affections as coupled to reason. That reason is acting through affection need not imply the presence of a special sort of faculty which, in separation from others, picks out the moral dimensions of actions or character.

Continuing on, the logic of Gill’s argument goes something like this: our natural affections are there for the good of the organism and when followed produce that good. This is more or less automatic in animals, but humans can be conscious of their affections and through reason see their purposes. The act of applying reason to the affections in both understanding their purposes and appreciating their relation to the social good is where the “rationalism” comes into play. Because reason enters the picture, we are not simply actors upon our affections. The application of reason to the role of our affections brings about the possibility of a modified second order affection which is virtue. Were we to act only for the ends dictated by our natural affections, we would have goodness. But by doing so through the understanding of reason, we get virtue.¹⁴ For the most part, reason of this sort seems to concern the recognition of how the natural affections contribute to the social good. Gill sums up his position by saying that “the affections of the moral sense are unlike other good affections in that they have a unique reflective or second-order quality, but they are like all other good affections in that they are beneficial to the species and affective.”(92)

In making his general case, Gill cites two passages which, for that reason, are worth repeating here:

Upon the whole. As to those Creatures who are only capable of being mov’d by sensible Objects, they are accordingly Good or Vitious, as the sensible Affections stand with them. ‘Tis otherwise in Creatures capable of framing rational Objects of moral Good. For in one of this kind, shou’d the sensible Affections stand ever so much amiss; yet if they prevail not, because of those other rational Affections spoken of {“i.e., the affections of the moral sense”}[Gill’s comment]; ‘tis evident, the Temper still holds good in the main; and the Person is with justice esteem’d virtuous by all Men.(92)

And,

We have found, that to deserve the name of Good or Virtuous, a Creature must have all his Inclinations and Affections, his Dispositions of Mind and Temper, suitable, and agreeing with the Good of his Kind, or of that System in which he is included, and of which he constitutes a PART. To stand thus well affected, and to have one’s Affections right and intire, not only in respect of one’s self, but of Society and the Publick. This is Rectitude, Integrity, or VIRTUE. And to be wanting in any of these, or to have their Contrarys, is Depravity, Corruption, and VICE.(93)

It is interesting that in these passages goodness and virtue are not separated, given an inclusive reading of the “or.” But the first of the two passages just cited does seem to separate off the mind (or “rational affections”) from goodness and identify it with virtue. Notice, though, that having rationality and affection blended together (“rational affections”) seems no problem for Shaftesbury as it would not have been for classical moralists. The second of the two passages just cited does, however, seem to tie virtue strongly into having a conception of the public good that seems not quite reducible to a first order sentiment, unless, of course, our natural affections are somehow inherently social such that when properly deployed we have virtue. And yet it is this very qualification that we would argue is the case with Shaftesbury and classical moral theory.

We should note that the degree to which the mere presence of reason ipso facto separates things into second order goods is a thorny philosophical problem about which we have had much to say elsewhere.¹⁵ Suffice it to say in response that the very act of “affective rationality” could itself be the “first order” good for humans with the “sensible affections” being something like proto-goods whose “goodness” is simply their capacity to become true goods. That is to say, in the second case some disposition is present, but in its raw and unrealized condition is less than appropriate to the species in question (human beings) and thus not really even a first order good. Such a possibility for thinking of first order goods suggests a thorough blending of reason and affection that is not in need of a special faculty to discern the moral character of things. Instead, the moral character of things is a function of affective rationality itself. A somewhat similar approach is taken by Smith toward Hutcheson¹⁶ in his own criticism of Hutcheson’s moral sense theory. In any case, the point is that we can read such passages without having to adopt sentimentalism or moral sense theory or having to distinguish virtue from goodness.¹⁷

Adopting such a conclusion in contrast to Gill does not imply that Shaftesbury is free of all deviations from the Aristotelian model we are using as the paradigm of classical ethics. First of all, Shaftesbury seems to purge that paradigm of any form of intellectualism—at least in this essay.¹⁸ He also exhibits the Stoic tendency to try and locate one’s place in a whole of some sort, as indicated in some of the passages above. Additionally, in passages we shall not be concerned with here, there is a sense of resignation to circumstance also characteristic of some Stoics. Gill additionally allies Shaftesbury with Theocles in The Moralists whose connection to a divine design perspective is clear and deliberate.¹⁹ For this and the other reasons mentioned above we have seen how Shaftesbury differs from a simplistic rehashing of classical moral theory, and how he gives rise to the sentimentalist lineage that follows him. What has not been settled is that we must read that lineage back into Shaftesbury himself.

There are advantages to not reading Shaftesbury as a sentimentalist or moral sense theorist. One of those has to do with responding to Gill’s closing criticism of Shaftesbury. The criticism boils down to the claim that Shaftesbury is in jeopardy of losing his theory of goodness because reason, rather than affection, discovers that there are solutions to apparent moral conflicts.(97) In other words, if there are conflicting affections, reason, rather than the affections themselves, discovers there is an objective solution as to what is morally right, which would mean that reason, not the affections determine what is actually good. As Gill puts it, the “worry is that Shaftesbury’s theory of goodness will itself become lost. Shaftesbury presents his account of goodness as objectively true, a discovery of reason, not a feeling of the heart.”(97) If reason discovers the morally good, goodness seems to be independent of moral sense and affection, what Gill refers to as an “affection-free moral high ground.”(97)

But if Shaftesbury is not actually a sentimentalist or moral sense theorist much of this problem goes away. In the first place, sentiments devoid of reason would not be the standard of goodness. Secondly, what rationally deployed affections would discover, or be seeking to discover, is the compossibility of the sentiments themselves when rightly understood and exercised. That all conflicting moral sensibilities can be resolved may perhaps be too optimistic a picture of human nature and social interaction, but there is really nothing in it contrary to the classical moral model. Indeed, it may only suggest that rational people can find ways to orient their affections such that compatibility is the outcome. Shaftesbury might be faulted for supposing there is always such a solution, and as we shall see shortly Smith’s approach may suggest one does not need such a priori optimism to account for cooperation. Nonetheless, Shaftesbury’s theory of goodness would only disappear if one accepts the fact of affectionless reason—which one need not do.

Gill’s “mistake” in this context comes from a much wider issue that stems, I believe, from a common modern way of approaching an ethical good. Gill notes that the problem with Shaftesbury’s definition of goodness is that “good” appears in both the definiendum and the definiens. This is because a creature is “good if and only if its affections promote ‘the publick Good’ or ‘the good of the Species in general.’”(98) Hence goodness is what promotes goodness! Yet the text cited in this context (Inquiry 13) is conjoined with one that I believe qualifies it and points to that wider issue just mentioned. Shaftesbury says the following:

[I]f the Affection towards private or Self-good, however selfish it may be esteem’d, is in reality not only consistent with publick Good, but in some measure contributing to it; if it be such, perhaps, as for the good of the Species in general, every Individual ought to share; ‘tis so far from being ill, or blameable in any sense, that it must be acknowledg’d absolutely necessary to constitute a Creature Good.(13)

This passage suggests that pursuing a “selfish” end can be not only consistent with and contributory to the public good, but can be so as a consequence of pursuing a private good. In other words, it does not follow that one must have the common good in mind as the object of one’s actions for those actions to be consistent with or contributory to such a good. Nor does it follow that by having such a good in mind one is doing something different from seeking self-perfection. If we are by nature suited to sociality, then concentrating on our own self-development may be exactly what is called for by a doctrine of self-perfection. In short, and in classical language, the material, efficient, formal, and even the final cause need not be the “public good” per se for something to be consistent with and contributory to the public good.

If our argument has been on track so far, the second and third components of the classical model of ethics (superiority of reason over sentiment, and self-perfection) can be attributed to Shaftesbury even when reading the Inquiry. The possibility of rational affections and the removal of the rationalist/sentimentalist distinction would give us the superiority of reason (in the sense of rational affection) over sentiment alone; and while the Inquiry does not seem to concern itself much with self-perfection, such works as the Askemata, the Soliloquy, and Shaftesbury’s Miscellaneous Reflections do. In this regard then, the Inquiry is not a recipe for moral action, but an accounting of the structure of moral consequences. In other words, the norms discussed therein are less directives than they are structural dispositions towards an understanding of ideal interrelationships of persons and their affections. The modern norm/action framework thus lacks a certain subtlety when compared to a dispositional account of normativity as found in Shaftesbury.

Because “rational affectivity” or “affective rationality” characterize classical moral teleology, we can on the one hand trust our “natural affections” while at the same time recognize that they are not our final end. Though Gill is willing to put reason and affection together in numerous places, in the end he separates them out again and then worries that Shaftesbury will lapse into a kind of subjectivism. This worry develops because we can imagine that the affections have no proper or real objects, yet still hold that the mind can enjoy their compossible qualities in themselves, and that virtue just is a unity of the affections—irrespective of the external world.(124-127) “So even if all our beliefs are false, we will still have a conclusive reason to be virtuous”(125), because self-reform harmonizes our affections and gives us what Gill terms “mental enjoyment.”

In fact, however, the passage Gill cites in support of his “mental enjoyment” thesis is mis-cited and thereby misleading. Gill cites, “[O]ur late dry Task [has been] to prove Morals without a World, and establish a Conduct of Life without the Supposition of any thing living or extant besides our immediate Fancy and World of Imagination. But having finished this mysterious Work we come now to open Day, and Sunshine….”(125) What Shaftesbury actually says, by contrast is the following:

Such has been our late dry Task. No wonder if it carrys, indeed, a meager and raw Appearance. It may be look’d on, in Philosophy, as worse than a mere EGYPTIAN Imposition. For to make Brick without Straw or Stubble, is perhaps an easier labour, than to prove MORALS without a World, and establish a Conduct of Life without the Supposition of any thing living or extant besides our immediate Fancy, and WORLD of Imagination. But having finished this mysterious Work we come now to open Day, and Sunshine .…(Reflections 129)

This passage when completely cited suggests precisely the opposite of what Gill is suggesting. It is not possible for us to think of virtue without the external world.²⁰ The whole point of morals is to marry our affections to that world so that we are able to act. There is no more virtue in pure fancy than there is in a world without life and affections. Consequently there is no lapsing into subjectivism for Shaftesbury. Our affections have to match with the world around us.

Whatever problems Shaftesbury’s theory (and classical ethical theory in general) may have, if our argument has been at least roughly on target, Shaftesbury is not subject to some of the tensions that beset modern ethical theories, such as between rationalism and sentimentalism or subjectivism and objectivism. We have labored to make Shaftesbury a classical moralist to the end that such a reading might say something interesting about social interaction and sympathy. That is still the plan; but because our project here involves comparison, we shall first turn to Adam Smith and then return to Shaftesbury and Smith.

Smith and Modernity

It is perhaps no accident that Smith’s attack on Shaftesbury in the Belles Lettres is effectively one of accusing him of not being modern enough.²¹ Apart from the ad hominum arguments about Shaftesbury’s health and character, Smith most likely sees Shaftesbury’s failing as one of not being in touch with modern science. At a minimum what this means in ethics is the need to remove teleology and thus the first and third components of our classical model of ethics. As a sentimentalist in moral theory, the second component—reason—also effectively drops out, although Smith has certain substitutes such as the impartial spectator. Shaftesbury and Smith do have a lot in common, and some have argued for strong similarities.²² Yet although Smith was much influenced by Stoic and probably Aristotelian doctrines, his ethical model, unlike Shaftesbury’s, is not a classical one. Understanding the difference, and the difference that makes for sympathy is part of our project here.

In Smith’s case we need not look far to find sympathy. It is at the center of his ethical theory. Sympathy is a function of a core human disposition stated in the famous opening sentence of The Theory of Moral Sentiments (TMS):

How selfish soever man may be supposed, there are evidently some principles in his nature, which interest him in the fortune of others, and render their happiness necessary to him, though he derives nothing from it except the pleasure of seeing it.(TMS I,I,1.1)

We are, in effect, other directed by nature and thus already sympathetically disposed towards others. The actual sympathetic linking among persons takes place through sentiments, specifically through a process of corresponding our sentiments to one another. Our sentiments are filtered through acts of imagination which issue in reactions to situations, actions, and characters. In this regard, we come to judge the propriety or impropriety of the sentiments of others by a correspondence or disagreement with our own.(TMS I.i.4.1.) The more they agree, the more appropriate those sentiments are.

But there are some complications in the endeavor to achieve correspondence: “mankind, through naturally sympathetic, never conceive, for what has befallen another, that degree of passion which naturally animates the person principally concerned.”(TMS I.i.4.7) Because we can never fully enter into another’s sentiment, no matter how vivid our imagination, we must get correspondence of our sentiments through a process of sentiment modification.²³ Each party naturally desires this “correspondence of sentiment” (and are pained when it does not occur), and thus pitch their own sentiments to the point where the other can enter into them. The spectator imagines the situation of the one principally concerned and experiences an associated sentiment. Because the principle person experiencing the sentiment does so more vividly than the spectator, that person must “flatten” (TMS I.i.4.7) his sentiments so that the spectator can connect to them. So to get you to correspond in your sentiments with the grief I feel at some loss of my own, I must tone down my own grief to a level close to what you could experience through an act of imagination of your own. “Though they will never be unisons, they may be concords, and this is all that is wanted or required. In order to produce this concord, as nature teaches the spectators to assume the circumstances of the person principally concerned, so she teaches this last in some measure to assume those of the spectators.”(TMS I.i.4.7,8) Each party thus works towards achieving correspondence and, as stated, is inclined by nature to do so.

Smith offers numerous descriptions of how our sentiments will be formed in various situations and what would be regarded as their appropriate expressions. Whether it is love and benevolence on the one hand or anger and perseverance on the other, what is proper is the modification of these passions to the point where correspondence can be achieved. Passions like love are relatively easy to work with, and we are forgiving of excesses here. Passions such as hatred and resentment, on the contrary, are difficult, and we are torn between the person who feels them and the one who is their object.(I.ii.3.1) In such cases we need to be much more precise to gain and keep correspondence. That is to say our sentiments must be pitched exactly and directed precisely when it comes to these latter sorts of passions. In all cases, however, we obtain some satisfaction in having achieved correspondence, even in those cases where the passions involved are unpleasant.(TMS I.iii.9.note).

Morality, as a consequence, is built upon this process of correspondence of sentiment.

Upon these two different efforts, upon that of the spectator to enter into the sentiments of the person principally concerned, and upon that of the person principally concerned, to bring down his emotions to what the spectator can go along with, are founded two different sets of virtues.(TMS I.i.5.1)

The two sets of virtues are what Smith terms the “soft and amiable” virtues on the one hand, and the “awful and respectable” virtues on the other. The former virtues reflect our humanity, while the latter connect to self-denial and self-command.²⁴ In the former category, as one might expect, we would find benevolence, generosity, empathy and the like. In the latter, we would find justice, courage, temperance, duty, and so on. We need not concern ourselves with the interesting details of the nature and formation of each of the virtues as Smith recounts them. What does concern us is the recognition that sentiment is the foundation for morality and that it originates in a process of mutual adaptation. Indeed, much like Shaftesbury’s belief that the affections are naturally suited to sociality, so Smith also holds that nature has essentially ordered our passions towards seeking cooperation. For example, “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.”(I.ii.3.5) Indeed, those sentiments or emotions most agreeable to ourselves are also the one’s most likely to draw us into others and achieve correspondence: “our fellow-feeling for the agreeable emotion approaches much more nearly to the vivacity of what is naturally felt by the persons principally concerned than that which we conceive for the painful one.”(I.iii.I.5)

There is, however, a problem with the foregoing scenario. If correspondence is the whole of the moral enterprise, then it would seem that morality would be on the one hand relative to the sentiments that already are present, and on the other relative and limited to the social group with whom one actually interacts. Thus if one’s circle of social acquaintances had some common sentiments with illiberal or destructive dimensions, it would seem that those common sentiments would be as valid morally as those of any other group. It would also seem that commonality of sentiment alone would suffice for a determination of propriety and impropriety. Apart from the predispositions we seem to have to process sentiments a certain way, Smith brings to bear two qualifying factors to our correspondence of sentiments. The first is the distinction between praise and praise worthiness, and the second is the role of the “impartial spectator.” The two are not unrelated.

In the first case, Smith notes that it is not enough to receive praise (or blame) for one’s actions or character, one must also be praiseworthy (or blameworthy) to reach the status of moral propriety. Although we like praise in itself (or abhor blame), we come to realize that mere praise is insufficient, because we desire to be worthy of it: “man naturally desires, not only to be loved, but to be lovely.”(TMS III.2.1ff) What is interesting in this connection is that Smith says that the desire for praiseworthiness does not come from the love of praise, but rather that our love of praise stems from our desire to be praiseworthy.(TMS III.2.3) This is turn brings in our other qualifying notion of the impartial spectator.(TMS III.2.3) For in essence, by predicating love of praise upon the desire for praiseworthiness, Smith is saying that because we want to be accepted by society in general--as well as in the eyes of any member of society not already blinded by his or her own particular interests or special circumstances--our primary motive is to seek what accords with general social values first. In other words, it is the desire to “fit in” that motivates us in the first instance, and any given expression of praise or blame per se does not necessarily indicate a lack of fit into a social order.

An individual may be blamed or praised for reasons that have little to do with the general sentiments or values of society and more to do with the interests of those praising or blaming. That is why we seek a certain type of praise (praiseworthiness) and can live with ourselves even when we are blamed, provided we believe we are not worthy of that blame.(TMS VII.ii.4.10) We thus quell not only our own self interest in our endeavors to become social, but we also measure things by imagining what the common sentiment would be if others quelled theirs as well. The impartial spectator is the means by which we sort through misrepresentations of deeds and sentiments whether by ourselves or others.(TMS III.3.4) In effect, Smith says we judge and are judged by two tribunals: by people we are surrounded by and by the impartial spectator or “the man within” who is sometimes linked by Smith to our conscience.(TMS III.2.32)²⁵ It is our contention here that moral norms and notions of propriety and impropriety are a function of the deployment of both these tribunals.

It might be said that the external tribunal is governed by the responses we get by interacting with others. Here sentiments meet sentiments and we strive for correspondence between them. But if that tribunal supplies, as it were, the content of our sentiments, we are, for Smith, more strongly moved by something much less concrete.

It is not the love of our neighbor, it is not the love of mankind, which upon many occasions prompts us to the practice of those divine virtues. It is a stronger love, a more powerful affection, which generally takes place upon such occasions; the love of what is honourable and noble, of the grandeur, and dignity, and superiority of our own characters.(III.3.4)

Indeed, Smith tells us just before this passage that it is the internal tribunal to which we primarily answer and which is responsible for moderating our self-love. And we are told just after this passage that our interest in others is also moderated by impartiality of some sort, because without a sense of justice and propriety our self-love would again give us regard for others only to the degree to which they benefit us. In the first instance, the desire to fit in manifests itself in justice, which means a revulsion at hurting or injuring others: “one individual must never prefer himself so much even to any other individual, as to hurt or injure that other, in order to benefit himself, though the benefit to the one should be much greater than the hurt or injury to the other.”(TMS III.3.6) Once justice is secured, we can move to more positive correspondences, though all are still regulated by both of the tribunals moderating our self-love.

Yet however sophisticated the analysis, in the end the product is itself still a sentiment.

What is agreeable to our moral faculties, is fit, and right, and proper to be done; the contrary wrong, unfit, and improper. The sentiments which they approve of, are graceful and becoming; the contrary, ungraceful and unbecoming. The very words, right, wrong, fit, improper, graceful, unbecoming, mean only what pleases or displeases those faculties.(III.5.5)

Ironically what we have learned from the foregoing discussion is that although correspondence of actual sentiments would be much more vivid and compelling, we can “correspond” in our minds with what we imagine ought to be the sentiments of others when impartial values are considered. The ability to so “correspond” puts imagination at the center of the moral enterprise for Smith.²⁶ The importance of this will be discussed in the next section. For now it is enough to see the process of sympathizing in Smith as one of constrained adaptability where the constraints are dispositions of fittingness as processed through our imaginations.

A Mandevillian Moment

It is now perhaps time for us to make some headway into tying these various reflections from Shaftesbury and Smith together. I believe one way to do this is to look at Bernard Mandeville—the expressed opponent of Shaftesbury and also the expressed object of opposition by Smith. Yet Mandeville provides us with a convenient baseline from which to examine and evaluate Shaftesbury and Smith.

Beginning with Shaftesbury, Mandeville’s main criticism is that Shaftesbury offers a picture of human nature that is almost completely at odds with what human beings are like and how they behave.

In respect to our Species he [Shaftesbury] looks upon Virtue and Vice as permanent Realities that must ever be the same in all Countries and all Ages, and imagines that a Man of sound Understanding, by following the Rules of good Sense, may not only find out that Pulchrum & Honestum both in Morality and the Works of Art and nature, but likewise govern himself by his Reason with as much Ease and Readiness as a good Rider manages a well-taught Horse by the Bridle….His notions I confess are generous and refined: They are a high Compliment to Human-kind, and capable by the help of a little Enthusiasm of Inspiring us with the most noble Sentiments concerning the Dignity of our exalted Nature: What Pity is it that they are not true…that the solidity of them is inconsistent with our daily experience.(SNS 324)²⁷

What are we really like for Mandeville? We are a bundle of pulsating passions that move us in various directions and which can only be controlled by stronger countervailing passions. We are not, and cannot be, directed by reason or moved by admonitions to virtue.

For we are ever pushing our Reason which way soever we feel Passion to draw it, and Self-love pleads to all human Creatures for their different Views, still furnishing every individual with Arguments to justify their Inclinations….That boasted Middle way, and the calm Virtues recommended in the Characteristicks, are good for nothing but to breed Drones, and might qualify a Man for the stupid Enjoyments of a Monastick Life,…Man’s natural Love of Ease and Idleness, and Proneness to indulge his sensual Pleasures, are not to be cured by Precept; His strong Habits and Inclinations can only be subdued by Passions of greater Violence.(SNS 333)

As this passage suggests, for Mandeville it is actually a good thing that we are not so constituted as it appears Shaftesbury claims us to be, for all the benefits of a thriving economy come precisely because we are this bundle of self-interested passions which produce the multitude of desires that are in need of satisfaction. Indeed, Mandeville holds that “the Sociableness of Man arises only from these Two things, viz. The multiplicity of his Desires, and the continual Opposition he meets with in his Endeavours to gratify them.”(SNS 344) What Mandeville is opposing here are doctrines like those of Shaftesbury and Smith who seek to argue for the natural sociableness of man and see that sociableness as a function of our desire to be in the company of others for the sake of that company alone, and also because of the friendly qualities possessed by us as a part of our human nature.

These things by superficial Judges are attributed to Man’s Sociableness, his natural Propensity to Friendship and love of Company; but whoever will duly examine things and look into Man more narrowly, will find that on all these Occasions we only endeavor to strengthen our Interest, and are moved by the Causes already alledg’d.(SNS 343)

Instead of a disposition towards seeking the company of others, we put up with others and modify our passions accordingly in order to satisfy the numerous desires we have and come to develop. So it is “not the Good and Amiable, but the Bad and Hateful Qualities of Man, his Imperfections and the want of Excellencies which…are the first Causes that made Man sociable beyond other Animals the Moment after he lost Paradise.”(SNS 344) Indeed, for Mandeville hypocrisy is one of our main characteristics because we must act as if we care about others when in fact we do so only to advance our own interests.(SNS 347ff) In short, what are generally regarded as our failings and imperfections are both a description of our normal conduct and dispositions and also the basis upon which we are willing to associate with others.

For our part, let us take—at least momentarily—Mandeville at his word on one point and use as our baseline the notion that human beings are so disposed, and often act, as Mandeville claims. In this connection, it is interesting to note that while our selfish sentiments may be the motivation for society, they cannot lead us to social order. Left to themselves, these sentiments could just as easily end in conflict and plunder as in cooperation and order. They need to be managed to get the benefits Mandeville identifies. Consequently,

[B]y Society I understand a Body Politick, in which Man either subdued by Superior Force, or by Persuasion drawn from his Savage State, is become a Disciplin’d Creature, that can find his own End in Labouring for others, and where under one Head or other Form of Government each Member is render/d Subservient to the Whole, and all of them by cunning Management are made to Act as one. For if by Society we only mean a Number of People, that without Rule or Government should keep together out of a natural Affection to their Species or Love of Company, as a Herd of Cows or a Flock of Sheep, then there is not in the World a more unfit Creature for Society than Man.(SNS 347)

This passage shows us that the solution to the problem of social cooperation does not come from a process of “rubbing our corners” through an unfettered process of countervailing passions as one’s first impression of Mandeville might suggest. Instead, our interactions must be directed by the “dexterous Management of a skillful Politician”(SNS 369). The denial of natural sociality on Mandeville’s part means that people cannot be left free to interact as they see fit—a view associated with Adam Smith, but which I would argue applies to Shaftesbury as well. Instead, the solution to the problem of sociality is a thoroughly constructivist one where the passions and interests must be properly managed to produce the benefits that can be derived from sociality.

However, if we start from roughly the same baseline, there are two other solutions to the problem of sociality offered by Shaftesbury and Smith that are not so constructivist. Typically one would say that in both these cases Shaftesbury and Smith would challenge Mandeville’s conception of human nature. While that is certainly true to some extent, it is more interesting to entertain the supposition that both would not dispute Mandeville’s contention that most people much of the time seem to behave just as Mandeville describes. What then can be said about the alternative solutions to the problem of sociality to be found in Shaftesbury and Smith?

Smith on Mandeville

One way to attack Mandeville would be to challenge his description of human nature and say that people are not generally as narrowly self-interested and hypocritical as Mandeville alleges. Smith certainly takes this line in part.²⁸ Yet Smith does not need to claim that people are generally inclined to behave with the good of others in mind to offer an alternative to Mandeville’s depiction of human nature. What he needs is simply what we noted above, namely the presence of a desire to “fit in” and the ability to imagine what that entails.

Smith’s main line of attack is to argue that virtues cannot be reduced to self-interested motives because they are actually not about any benefits that may accrue to oneself, but about the conception we have about what ought to be the case. Simply put, not every pursuit of praise is for the pleasure of being praised. Some acts of pursuing praise are because those acts are conceived to be praiseworthy. Indeed, as we noted earlier, praise is actually a function of praiseworthiness for Smith. Hence, even if people are sometimes--or often--moved merely by the love of praise, that in no way counters the claim Smith makes about our ability to imagine praiseworthiness. What Mandeville would have to show is that no one has a conception of praiseworthiness, and simply repeating the belief that there is no such thing does not refute it.

In this connection, Mandeville uses the term “vanity” to describe our self-interested motives and claims that all virtuous actions really could be reduced to vanity in the end. Smith describes the flaw in this conception of things.

the desire of doing what is honourable and noble, of rendering ourselves the proper objects of esteem and approbation, cannot with any propriety be called vanity….He is guilty of vanity who desires praise for qualities which are either not praiseworthy in any degree, or not in that degree in which he expects to be praised for them….He is guilty of vanity who desire praise for what indeed very well deserves it, but what he perfectly knows does not belong to him.(TMS VII.ii.4.8)

In essence the point is that it really does not matter how often we do indeed act out of “vanity.” What matters is whether we can imagine what is praiseworthy and hold ourselves and others accountable to that standard. Doing so does not require us to be naïve or idealistic about human nature. It only requires the possibility that we can imagine appropriate desires. The solution to the problem of sociality, then, does not require the dexterous management of skillful politicians. Instead, we can allow human beings to interact largely on their own, because they have this self-regulating device of measuring their actions and sentiments according to a conception of what ought to be in light of present social values impartially considered.

If our foregoing account of Smith is at all on the mark, our conclusion must be that sympathy in Smith is primarily an aesthetic phenomenon. By this I mean first that our corresponding sentiments are largely a function of our imagination. Fittingness is the regulatory factor in the process of correspondence, and what “fits” is a function of how our imagination pictures what is fitting with regard to actions and characters. Our desire to achieve correspondence, then, is regulated by a view of what it means to pitch our sentiments appropriately. The process is partly, as we saw earlier, a function of moderating sentiments simply because we cannot share completely in the vividness of another’s passions. But when we get the full picture we realize that we also cannot pitch ourselves inappropriately—that is, the deployment of the sentiments themselves are governed by a sense of whether they are fitting to the occasion. Sympathy, then, is not just a similarity of sentiment between persons. Rather, it is more strongly a similarity of notions of fittingness which manifest themselves in expressions of similar sentiments. We are united by acts of imagination whose similarities are measured through correspondences of sentiments. Corresponding sentiments are the prima facie expression of similar acts of imagination.

We know that imagination has to be at the center of sympathy because we can sympathize with situations we cannot possibly feel ourselves such as a man sympathizing with a woman in childbirth (TMS VII.iii.1.4) or our ability to sympathize with the dead.(TMS I.i.I.13) Here the “correspondence” is itself an act of imagination. Yet besides imagining sentiments within the circumstances of others, we also imagine whether their responses to circumstance fit our understanding of what is appropriate to those circumstances. And while reason can play a role in formulating general rules out of the sentiments we express (TMS VII.iii.2.6-9), it is imagination that both creates and circumscribes the moral sentiments.²⁹

At this stage one might point out that sentiments per se are different from moral sentiments, and sympathy can occur with respect to the former as well as the latter. Why, then, the emphasis on moral sentiments? If Smith is right about love of praise being dependent on the desire for praiseworthiness, then all our sentimental correspondences need to be understood in light of a push towards fittingness. Thus while at any given moment sympathy might manifest itself as a simple correspondence, it’s stability is determined by its propriety, and that is the imagination seeing the sentiment as appropriate. This is neither Kantian noumenal rationality nor Mandevillian self-interest. Sympathy is a commonality rooted in the experience of interactive sentiments which are themselves modified according to standards of appropriateness. The experience of sympathy is neither one of reason nor one of simple commonality of feeling, but a form of aesthetic appreciation—that is, a feeling in response to some conception of a whole. In this regard at least, I believe Shaftesbury and Smith have a lot in common.

Shaftesbury and Mandeville

If our interpretation of Shaftesbury’s ethical theory is basically sound, Mandeville poses little threat. This is because in a teleological framework, actual observed behavior is not sufficient in itself to define the nature of the telos. If, for example, we behave without consideration of others, it does not follow that our perfection consists in asocial or selfish behavior. Indeed, since our telos refers to how we ought to be, how we actually behave is not itself decisive. Of course, Mandeville would claim that our actual behavior is an indication that we do not possess the dispositions that Shaftesbury indicates are directive of our telos. Moreover, Mandeville would claim that even if we granted certain ends as perfections of our nature, we could never achieve those ends because people do not behave in ways that allow them to do so. Yet Mandeville does allow virtue—that is, a form of conduct that is seldom observed--to exist in rare cases (though he does not like the results).³⁰ That “virtue” is possible is sufficient for teleology to get off the ground, since teleology speaks of what can be, and needs to be, the case even if such is not yet so. Thus Mandeville would have to show that not only do we not act in certain ways, but that we cannot do so. Fortunately, we need not enter this debate here. For our purposes, it is enough to say that however badly people sometimes (or often) behave, were their dispositions properly governed, the bad behavior would and ought to disappear or be transformed.³¹

Given that actual behavior needs evaluation according to some normative standard, we might sum up the difference between Smith and Shaftesbury by repeating that with Shaftesbury sympathy manifests itself through harmonization whereas with Smith it does so through adaptation. In Smith we saw the disposition to fit in expressing itself in the desire to have a correspondence of sentiment with others. Though we may arrive at the condition of correspondence through a conception of propriety and not a mere congruence of feeling, propriety itself is a function of a generalized conception of the values of one's society. In this regard, one must adapt oneself to those generalized social values if one is to fit in.³² Moreover, those general social values are likely to be formulated through a multitude of encounters of sentiment among the various social actors over time. Those encounters collectively issue in generalized social norms which in turn define the characteristics of propriety and worthiness. In other words, the applicable norms are not immanent to the actor, but rather measure degrees of a person’s proper sociability. This ultimate reliance on the social differs from an approach such as Shaftesbury's where the ultimate appeal is to nature. What difference does that make?³³

What is interesting about the adaptability model of Smithean sympathy is that, unlike Shaftesbury, we do not necessarily "rub our corners" as we must in a teleological account such as Shaftesbury's. We do modify our conduct for Smith in light of what others do and feel, so in that sense there is a kind of "rubbing." But we may not have to do even that much, if we somehow already fit in. In any case, such "rubbing" is not defined or measured in terms of self improvement so much as it is an improvement for socialization. If self-perfection has any meaning at all in the Smithean model, it is defined in terms of what is conducive to social cooperation.³⁴ The case seems quite otherwise with Shaftesbury. For him self-perfection is the telos with social harmony being one of the necessary benefits that results therefrom.³⁵ One does not adapt so much as one reforms. Perfected selves are, by their nature, compatible selves. Appropriate reformation is thus conducive to a good society. And despite some appearances in the Inquiry, our object is not the good of society per se, but the reform of the self which, when done properly, will as a consequence express itself through a flourishing social order. There is “fittingness” in Shaftesbury as well, of course, but not fittingness through adaptation. Rather, what the Inquiry and other writings show us is that properly “polished,” the “parts” will fit together quite well. Hence, so called "rubbing" is an aid to self-perfection, but not its defining essence. Rubbing applies only to our “corners,” whereas for Smith the sociality of the adaptive interactions constitutes our core.

        The rubbing metaphor is found in Shaftesbury's Sensus Communis; an Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour. Here is the passage in which it occurs:

And thus in other respects Wit will mend upon our hands, and Humour will refine it-self; if we take care not to tamper with it, and bring it under Constraint, by severe Usage and rigorous Prescriptions. All Politeness is owing to Liberty. We polish one another, and rub off our Corners and rough Sides by a sort of amicable Collision. To restrain this, is inevitably to bring a Rust upon Mens Understandings. ’Tis a destroying of Civility, Good Breeding, and even Charity it-self, under pretence of maintaining it.(42)

The first thing one notices about these words from Shaftesbury is that the process described is one of polishing rough edges and colliding, not one of cooperating and conforming. The “parts” will fit together if only they be polished. Moreover, we are polishing to avoid “rust upon Mens understandings.” This process is not, in other words, one of pursuing cooperation per se. It is rather one of honing ourselves properly from which sociality would then emerge. But this honing is not necessarily an endeavor to obtain a correspondence of sentiment, but rather one of colliding with others in a manner that forces us (and them) to improve our (their) understanding. Furthermore, the freer we are, at least with respect to speech and communication, the more collisions we are likely to have, making us better for it. It is important to note that these collisions are not instead of the correspondences Smith describes. Correspondences of sentiment would still be desirable in a Shaftesburian world. But correspondences per se are not necessarily steps towards self-perfection, though they could be signs of its presence.

Like anything from Shaftesbury, one needs to be cautious before generalizing too quickly from single passages, but our position here continues to be that while large degrees of overlap are possible between the conceptions of sympathy in Smith and Shaftesbury,³⁶ their conceptions are in the end different. Whereas sympathy, however filtered, is a function of sentiment in Smith, sentiment--at least of the sort that ensures social tranquility--is a function of sympathy in Shaftesbury. Sentiment is a function of sympathy for Shaftesbury because the locus of improvement is not finally sentiment itself, or even imagination, but the understanding. We collide and polish to improve our understanding, which in turn informs and reforms our sentiments. It is reason in practice that Shaftesbury seeks.

[A]ccording to the Notion I have of Reason, neither the written Treatises of the Learned, nor the set Discourses of the Eloquent, are able of themselves to teach the use of it. ‘Tis the Habit alone of Reasoning, which can make a Reasoner. And Men can never be better invited to the Habit, than when they find Pleasure in it. A Freedom of Raillery, a Liberty in decent Language to question every thing, and an Allowance of unraveling or refuting any Argument, without offence to the Arguer, are the only Terms which can render such speculative Conversations any way agreeable.(45)

Shaftesbury notes in addition that,

The only Poison to Reason, is Passion. For false Reasoning is soon redress’d, where Passion is remov’d. But if the very hearing certain Propositions of Philosophy be sufficient to move our Passion; ‘tis plain, the Poison has already gain’d on us, and we are effectually prevented in the use of our reasoning Faculty.(58)

Moreover, “virtue is never such a Sufferer, by being contested, as by being betray’d. My fear is not so much from its witty Antagonists, who give it Exercise, and put it on its Defense, as from its tender Nurses, who are apt to over-lay it, and kill, with Excess of Care and Cherishing.(61) Our affections, then, need to be honed by a process of testing them, forcing us to exercise our reason in an habitual manner in their guidance. Reason is the tool needed in the development of self-perfection.

‘tis the known Province of Philosophy to teach us our-selves, keep us the self-same Persons, and so regulate our governing Fancy’s, Passions, and Humours, as to make us comprehensible to our selves, and knowable by other Features than those of a bare Countenance.(176)

Notice that in the manner indicative of classical ethical theory, it is living according to our nature and perfecting ourselves that is our central task:³⁷

The Question wou’d not be, “Who lov’d himself, or Who not”; but “Who lov’d and serv’d himself the rightest, and after the truest manner.” ‘Tis the height of Wisdom, no doubt, to be rightly selfish.(76)

And further: “honour my-self I never cou’d; whilst I had no better a sense of what, in reality, I ow’d my-self, and what became me, as a human Creature.”(78) We must blend affection and reason into one integrated whole. What ultimately is in our “interest,” then, is this integrated whole that constitutes the perfection of our nature, and thus one’s “chief interest it seems…must be to get an aim, and know certainly where [one’s] happiness and advantage lies….[L]et me see whether I can control my fancy and fix it, if possible, on something which may hold good.” What “holds good” as our “chief interest” is the right use and ordering of our natural affections.

And a life without natural Affection, Friendship, or Sociableness, wou’d be found a wretched one, were it to be try’d. ‘Tis as these Feelings and Affections are intrinsically valuable and worthy, that Self-interest is to be rated and esteem’d. A Man is by nothing so much himself, as by his Temper, and the Character of his Passions and Affections.(76)

Shaftesbury is well aware of the difficulties involved in our self-perfection. But unlike Mandeville, Shaftesbury is no rigorist who supposes that the presence of passion is necessarily a sign of lack of virtue. Like his classical counterparts, passion—even an appropriate enthusiasm—is integral to virtue and the good life.

Conclusion: Shaftesbury, Smith, and Sympathy

We have seen that for Smith our disposition to want to “fit in” and behave in worthy ways is the guiding force for sociability and sympathy. In this connection, it is interesting to consider the central importance of “tranquility” in Smith’s corpus.

Happiness consists in tranquility and enjoyment. Without tranquility there can be no enjoyment; and where there is perfect tranquility there is scarce any thing which is not capable of amusing….The person under the influence of any of those extravagant passions, is not only miserable in his actual situation, but is often disposed to disturb the peace of society, in order to arrive at that which he so foolishly admires. The slightest observation, however, might satisfy him, that, in all the ordinary situations of human life, a well-disposed mind may be equally calm, equally cheerful, and equally contented. Some of those situations may, no doubt, deserve to be preferred to others; but none of them can deserve to be pursued with that passionate ardour which drives us to violate the rules either of prudence or of justice; or to corrupt the future tranquility of our mind…(TMS III.3.30,31)

Both personally and socially tranquility is, for Smith, the preferred state of being. One might recall that in Smith’s famous “poor boy” example, the poor boy “pursues the idea of a certain artificial and elegant repose which he may never arrive at, for which he sacrifices a real tranquility that is at all times in his power.”(TMS IV.I.8) And although society may benefit from the ambitions of the poor boy, it is the lack of tranquility that bothers us about his conduct. Moreover, it seems fairly clear that on the social level, tranquility is the measure of good social orders (e.g., TMS VI.ii.2.6-12)³⁸

But it is also tranquility that presents a problem for Smith and which allows us to recognize another difference from Shaftesbury. The problem begins to manifest itself with Smith’s discussion of the prudent man.

The man who lives within his income, is naturally contented with his situation, which, by continual, though small accumulations, is growing better and better every day….He has no anxiety to change so comfortable a situation, and does not go in quest of new enterprises and adventures, which might endanger, but could not well increase, the secure tranquility which he actually enjoys.(TMS VI.i.12)

Such a person, Smith tells us, “would prefer the undisturbed enjoyment of secure tranquility, not only to all the vain splendor of successful ambition, but to the real and solid glory of performing the greatest and most magnanimous actions.”(TMS VI.i.13.) Despite the tranquility that was lauded earlier, prudence “never is considered as one, either of the most endearing, or of the most ennobling of the virtues. It commands a certain old esteem, but seems not entitled to any very argent love or admiration.”(TMS VI.i.14) As it turns out then, the person of most tranquility is not necessarily the person most worthy of our greatest admiration. Yet on what basis do we have in Smith for preferring anything else?

Immediately after these remarks, Smith speaks of a “superior prudence” which is the “disposition of acting with the most perfect propriety in every possible circumstance and situation. It necessarily supposes the utmost perfection of all the intellectual and of all the moral virtues. It is the best head joined to the best heart.”(TMS VI.i.15) Clearly superior prudence is something to be admired, but equally clearly it would be rare to the point of virtual non-existence.³⁹ Yet in a system where the standard is the general sentiment, even if highly filtered and qualified, it is not exactly obvious what grounds the praise for superior prudence. Perhaps it is some sort of common goodness magnified to extremes.

But this is not the only place where Smith’s own moral sentiments seem unhinged from his theory. Smith’s outburst about the exposure of infants is another dramatic example. He notes,

When custom can give sanction to so dreadful a violation of humanity, we may well imagine that there is scarce any particular practice so gross which it cannot authorize. Such a thing, we hear men every day saying, is commonly done, and they seem to think this a sufficient apology for what, in itself, is the most unjust and unreasonable conduct….No society could subsist a moment, in which the usual strain of men’s conduct and behavior was of a piece with the horrible practice have just now mentioned.(TMS VI.2.15,16)

Of course, societies did subsist for more than a moment with such practices. Though his readers would likely share Smith’s own sentiments in these cases, that alone hardly constitutes a foundation for moral judgment. So in the case of prudence we seem left with two moral universes—the one for ordinary people and one for exceptional people.⁴⁰ In the case of infanticide, the appeal to regard it as immoral lies either with Smith’s own culture or with a broader appeal to “humanity.”

Our point is not to be critical so much as to point out the possible benefits and costs of an adaptability model. The great strength of such a model is its scope of descriptive success in an existing social order. It is a model suited to actual people living in a mass culture where sentiment does in fact rule. The model is thus most useful in showing how the common sentiments of a culture can form themselves into moral norms. No doubt social elites will influence and help refine the common sentiments in various ways. In addition, in an adaptability model one would expect that sentimental outliers or mutations upon the commonly accepted norms (objectors in ancient Greece to infant exposure?) would exist who also would contribute to the ebb and flow of moral sentiments.⁴¹ But in the case of a conflict between sentiments that have passed the test of worthiness in competing social circles—that is, they are not only general but also filtered for worthiness—Smith can only hope to resolve such conflicts by widening the scope of the social circles. In the case of infanticide, notice that he widens it to “humanity” in general, rather than leaving it with the ancient Greeks. Whether such a move is really available as anything more than an appeal, I shall leave off here.

Of course, the alternative to the adaptability model of Smith is to rest morality, and the sort of sympathy that would accompany it, on human nature and self-perfection as Shaftesbury would have it. There is certainly a sense of such an attitude in Smith himself at times, but the sentimentalist non-teleological core of Smith’s theory diverts the theory from this path. We mentioned tranquility above because, although it would certainly be of some value for Shaftesbury, it would by no means be the standard or measure of self-perfection, or even of social harmony. As we noted earlier, we polish rather than conform for Shaftesbury, and that polishing is first directed at reason, which in turn refines sentiment. Indeed, as we alluded to earlier, Shaftesbury was by no means unaware of the potential negative aspects of our strong inclination to socialize.

For my own part, methinks, this herding Principle, and associating Inclination, is seen so natural and strong in most Men, that one might readily affirm, ‘twas even from the Violence of this Passion that so much Disorder arose in the general Society of Mankind.(70)

Like all affections and inclinations, even our most basic and helpful ones need the benefit of rational infusion. Yet with such guidance, strong enthusiasms are not only acceptable but sought after.

Inspiration may be justly call’d Divine Enthusiasm: For the Word it-self signifies Divine Presence, and was made use of by the Philosopher [Plato] whom the earliest Christian Fathers call’d Divine, to express whatever was sublime in human Passions. This was the Spirit he allotted to Heroes, Statesmen, Poets, Orators, Musicians, and even Philosophers themselves. Nor can we, of our own accord, forbear ascribing to a noble Enthusiasm, whatever is greatly perform’d by any of These. So that almost all of us know something of this Principle. But to know it as we shou’d do, and discern it in its several kinds, both in our-selves, and others; this is the great Work, and by this means alone we can hope to avoid Delusion. For to judg the Spirits whether they are of God, we must antecedently judg our own Spirit; whether it be of Reason and sound Sense; whether it be fit to judg at all, by being sedate, cool, and impartial; free of every biassing Passion, every giddy Vapor, or melancholy Fume. This is the first Knowledg and previous Judgment: “To understand our-selves, and know what Spirit we are of.” Afterwards we may judg the Spirit in others, consider what their personal Merit is, and prove the Validity of their Testimony by the Solidity of their Brain.(A Letter Concerning Enthusiasm, 34-35)

That Shaftesbury favors an appropriate sort of enthusiasm is, as we see from the above, the product of a blending of reason and affection in accord with the nature of things, just as classical ethics would have it. It is put most simply by him when he tells us, “Even Virtue it-self he [Shaftesbury, referring to himself] takes to be no other than a noble Enthusiasm justly directed, and regulated by that high Standard which he supposes in the Nature of Things.”(Miscellaneous Reflections, 22) Whatever such enthusiasm may be, then, it is certainly not tranquility.⁴² It may also not be suited to mass consumption given the effort required for its production.

For such indeed is the truly virtuous Man; whose ART, tho ever so natural in it-

We are all called to this project even if, as the foregoing quotation suggests, only a few manage the “improvement.” “Every one is a virtuoso of a higher or lower degree. Every one pursues a Grace and courts a Venus of one kind or another.”(Freedom of Wit and Humor) The process of self-perfection is thus a long and difficult one,⁴³ but the point here is that we have ourselves as the principle object of that activity.⁴⁴ Since accommodation and adaptability per se are not our object, nor therefore is tranquility, we need an environment suited to self-reflection and for “rubbing our corners.” This is why Shaftesbury places such an emphasis on liberty throughout his writings.

Hence it is that those arts have been delivered to us in such perfection by free nations, who from the nature of the government, as from a proper soil, produced the generous plants; whilst the mightiest bodies and vastest empires, governed by force and despotic power could, after ages of peace and leisure, produced no other than what was deformed and barbarous of the kind.(Soliloquy, 147)

In general, then, the various collisions and rubbings will help generate self improvement, which gets expressed in the form of diverse “enthusiasms.” As we have seen, the Inquiry is testimony to the belief in the natural harmony of virtuous individuals, as Shaftesbury conceives them. What lies beneath that belief is a faith in the ultimate benevolence of nature: “so that we have only to consider, whether there be really such a thing as a Mind which has relation to the Whole, or not. For if unhappily there be no Mind, we may comfort our selves, however, that Nature has no Malice.(Enthusiasm, 25)⁴⁵

Shaftesbury’s project often seems implausible as both a description of social concord and as program for general social reform in the modern world. In this regard, Smith has his finger more on the social pulse of modern times. Modern societies are indeed governed by sentiment. Smith’s grounding in sentiments seems most suited to a world with a large and growing middle class where adaptability and cooperation, not to mention a certain desire for tranquility, mark the successful life, rather than excellence. Sympathy is measured by cooperation. By contrast, Shaftesbury’s more rarely fulfilled call to virtue as expressed through individualized enthusiasms, rather than tranquility, makes sympathy a matter of harmonization.

Hence for me the practical problem is one of how to make room for Shaftesbury in the modern world. His own endeavors to encourage a culture of politeness appear rather quaint today, and the sort of enthusiasm he envisions would be too rare to generalize. Yet theoretically, without his appeal to reason and nature, a final appeal to sentiment may end up with the problems Smith encounters with infanticide and tranquility. In a world governed by sentiment, persuasiveness rules, and people can be collectively persuaded of many things. It is thus not difficult to imagine the pathologies of social cohesiveness that might develop through various modes of persuasiveness, if unanchored to something more than sentiment itself, however refined. Shaftesbury’s suggestion that we look to self-improvement grounded in the development of our human nature, may give us a way of ultimately measuring the soundness of our sentiments and thus the soundness of various forms of persuasiveness. Yet as I suspect Shaftesbury himself was aware, no single exercise of self-discipline is likely to take hold in a world moved by sentiment alone. Perhaps then the best we can do in such a complex diverse culture is to make sure that we, following Shaftesbury’s own advice, deploy different approaches and “bring into the Mind, by many different Glances and broken Views, what cannot so easily be introduc’d by one steddy Bent, or continu’d Stretch of Sight.”(MR 138)

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1. I plan not to begin by defining the term “sympathy”, leaving it to the authors themselves to indicate their usages of the term. As “Schliesser (2015), 6ff” notes in his introduction the term carries with it a number of senses and connotations. I do not wish to box in our authors by predetermining the scope of the term here.↩

2. References will be to the Oxford Glasgow edition of The Theory of Moral Sentiments (henceforth TMS)(Oxford University Press, 1976: Liberty Fund edition, 1982). Smith was also concerned with sympathy and cooperation in his other main work: An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, (Oxford University Press: Liberty Classics, 1976) (henceforth WN). As one simple example, see WN I.ii.↩

3. See his famous criticism of Shaftesbury in Adam Smith, Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, (Oxford University Press: Liberty Classics, 1983), Lecture 11.↩

4. See, for example, Zamaedi, (2014), 291ff.↩

5. Den Uyl (1998), 275-316.↩

6. Anthony Ashley Cooper, Third Earl of Shaftesbury, Characteristicks of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times (henceforth, “Characteristicks”) in Three Volumes (Indianapolis, USA: Liberty Fund Inc. 2001), edited by Douglas J. Den Uyl.↩

7. For a good general discussion of this essay, see “Gill (2006) Part Two.” The focus by Gill on this essay attests to its historical importance. When referring to “An Inquiry concerning Virtue and Merit” which is contained in the Characteristicks, we shall simply designate it as the “Inquiry.”↩

8. See Gill (2006) for further elaboration.↩

9. Gill (2006), 77-132.↩

10. For some additional excellent insights into Shaftesbury’s ethics, see Frazer (2010) 15-30. Frazer takes Shaftesbury to be a sentimentalist because he’s not a rationalist, but as we see below, there is an alternative. See also the Adam Smith Review, Vol. 7, 2013, pp. 203-235 for a symposium on Frazer’s book.↩

11. E.g., See Inquiry Part I, Section II, and some of the passages cited below.↩

12. See Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics VI. 2 1139b4-5: “Hence choice is either desiderative thought or intellectual desire, and such an origin of action is a man” (Ross translation). See our own Rasmussen and Den Uyl (2005),165-166.↩

13. Gill does not cite a passage that seems to me to give his view of goodness some strong support: “Since it is therefore by Affection merely that a Creature is esteem’d good or ill,…”(Inquiry 12)↩

14. Gill notes that both reason and sentiment have essential roles to play in Shaftesbury’s account of virtue (94), but of course this is to be understood as each being separately necessary and jointly sufficient.↩

15. Den Uyl and Rasmussen, (2016), especially chapter 5. For an analytic discussion of the issue with a conclusion similar to our own, see Piekoff, (2003),124-138.↩

16. See TMS’s discussion of Hutcheson: TMS VII.iii.3.7-16. Smith, however, thinks the sentiments alone are enough to handle the task at hand, so his argument is more of an Ockam’s razor reason for rejecting the faculty or moral sense than is my argument.↩

17. Of course, there is a trivial way of understanding the distinction that no one objects to, namely, saying that only humans have virtue because only they are responsible for their actions.↩

18. In the “Sensus Communis” in the Characteristicks Shaftesbury seems to laud common sense over theoretical reason and in numerous places is skeptical of academic philosophy.↩

19. See p. 104ff. It is interesting that here Gill allows for the very blending of reason and affection that seemed so distinct in the “Inquiry.” Moreover, in the opening part of this chapter Gill correctly identifies Shaftesbury’s opposition to modern philosophy and its rationalism as well as the inherently practical purpose of philosophy. In this respect, I believe it tells against much of Gill’s reading of the Inquiry, but by the same token I am less than convinced that Shaftesbury can be simply identified with Theocles either.↩

20. Shaftesbury does suggest a “unity of virtues” notion that has been attributed to Aristotle as well. He says, “that as in certain machines that are fastened by many wedges, through they be made ever so compact and firm by this means, yet if one wedge be loosened the whole frame shakes; so with respect to the mind, it is not merely in one passion that the mischief is received, but in all; it is not one spring that loses its accord, but all.” Philosophical Regimen, “Self”, 114 .↩

21. See note 3 above.↩

22. See for example notes by Ryan Hanley and James Otteson (2011), pp. 224-233. For a much longer and more in-depth discussion, with a somewhat different point of view from my own, see Otteson, (2008), 106-131.↩

23. For a useful look at the complications in both Smith’s theory and Shaftesbury’s, see Lamb, (2009), especially Chapter 3.↩

24. Smith distinguishes virtue from propriety (TMS I.i.5.6) with the former being some uncommon characteristic with which we sympathize while the latter is simply approval. We shall largely ignore this subtlety in what follows and regard propriety as containing some degree of virtue for the sake of economy of expression here .↩

25. The “impartial spectator” is a notoriously slippery term in Smith, and we shall not pretend to sort it out here. Any interpretation relevant to our analysis shall be provided as we go along. For a good sampling of interpretations, including one of my own, please see Klein, (2016).↩

26. For an excellent discussion of the importance of the imagination in Smith, see Griswold, (2006), 22-56.↩

27. Bernard Mandeville, “A Search into the Nature of Society,” (henceforth SNS) in The Fable of the Bees or Private Vices, Publick Benefits, (1988), 324.↩

28. See TMS Book VII, Part 2, Chapter IV “Of Licentious Systems.”↩

29. The central importance of imagination in Smith can be found in Smith, (1980), Essay II, “The History of”. There Smith notes towards the beginning that “philosophy, therefore, may be regarded as one of those arts which address themselves to the imagination…”(II, 12), and at the end says “and even we, while we have been endeavoring to represent all philosophical systems as mere inventions of the imagination…”(IV, 76).↩

30. See, for example, the very end of the Fable of the Bees where only the virtuous are left in the hive.↩

31. Shaftesbury was not naïve about human nature and what moved it. In some ways Mandeville, while appearing to claim that passions rule, ends up boiling all down to interest. But Shaftesbury by contrast notes that, “YOU have heard it… as a common Saying, that interest governs the World. But, I believe, whoever looks narrowly into the Affairs of it, will find, that Passion, Humour, Caprice, Zeal, Faction, and a thousand other Springs, which are counter to Self-interest, have as considerable a part in the Movements of this Machine. There are more Wheels and Counter-Poises in this Engine than are easily imagin’d.”(72) Like Mandeville, Shaftesbury also sees people as generally moved by their passions, but then does not try to reduce such movements to self-interest alone.↩

32. Even if one regards "one's society" as the community of humanity at large it is still one's conception of what that community values to which one must adapt. I suspect, however, that Smith was not so general in his notion of "society." More on this in a moment.↩

33. It would be misleading at this juncture to give the impression that human nature in Smith is fluid and plastic. Quite the opposite impression can be given when reading TMS, that is, it often looks as though human nature is rather fixed and thus our responses to things and each other common and predictable in many cases. There is now even experimental evidence for this: see, for example, Smith and Wilson, (2014)1 –26. In many respects, the more stable human nature is with respect to our responses to those around us, the more like Shaftesbury Smith becomes. This would have to do with what would be meant by the “perfection” of our nature if not exercising these capacities? I have chosen to avoid the question of the fluidity of our nature here to emphasize some of the contrast between the two thinkers. However, as always, it is interesting to imagine their similarities as well.↩

34. There do seem to be exceptions to this, such as the man of superior prudence (see below); but they are indeed regarded as exceptions. As we also note below, Smith sometimes seems a bit unhappy with some of the implications of his own framework.↩

35. As he says of himself, “his pretense has been to advise authors and polish styles, but his aim has been to correct manners and regular lives.” “Miscellaneous Reflections”, in the Characteristicks, 272.↩

36. Shaftesbury says in the Sensus Communis, for example, “And a Life without natural Affection, Friendship, or Sociableness, wou’d be found a wretched one, were it to be try’d. ‘Tis as these Feelings and Affections are intrinsically valuable and worthy, that Self-interest is to be rated and esteeem’d. A Man is by nothing so much himself, as by his Temper, and the Character of his Passions and Affections.”(76)(cited again below) But he also notes, “For my own part, methinks, this herding Principle, and associating Inclination, is seen so natural and strong in most Men, that one might readily affirm, ‘twas even from the Violence of this Passion that so much Disorder arose in the general Society of Mankind.”(70) We shall come back to this point shortly, since it is precisely this extreme that gives Shaftesbury’s model some standing. For now, besides the social propensity identified, this passage also suggests that something else besides sentiment is needed.↩

37. Throughout it should be evident that something like a common human nature has been supposed in my reading of Shaftesbury. As Thomas Michlich has insightfully pointed out to me, the notion of harmonization does seem to suggest the need for some common or universal elements among the components of any harmony. I have rested my account on the classical notion of human nature though divine planning might work as well.↩

38. In an adaptability model such as Smith’s tranquility is likely to signify a steady state or equilibrium position. That is, adaptation seeks a resting point which gets reflected in a notion like tranquility. Since the individual is socialized in Smith, that social values carries through to the individual on this model. Tranquility does, however, seem somewhat in tension with Smith’s notions of progress and “bettering our condition” found in his WN.↩

39. Smith notes at the same place that it applies to the “Academical or Peripatetic sage.”↩

40. Prior to the passage quoted about superior prudence, Smith suggests that those with superior prudence are “directed to greater and nobler purposes” indicating that their activities will be outside the ordinary.↩

41. I should note that Smith does not write as if there is really an ebb and flow. Moral norms, or norms that qualify as such, seem inherently stable. Customs are what change. This too seems more like a faith on Smith’s part rather than a consequence of his argument.↩

42. For Smith enthusiasm is almost always a negative force, a view which makes sense in that enthusiasm could pose significant obstacles to achieving a correspondence of sentiment because the process is one of adaptation. But because we start with human nature in a classical ethics such as Shaftesbury’s, there is a pre-defined unit with its own characteristics and telos—hence we speak of harmonization. The difference is like one of separate pieces being sanded and polished to fit together well versus more amorphous beings whose shape is defined by their inter-reeaction. In the first case, appropriate enthusiasm is like a fine polish well applied.↩

43. Self-perfection is not an easy process. Shaftesbury tells us that virtue arises “from long art and management, self-control, and as it were, force on nature.” “Miscellaneous Reflections,” 160 note.↩

44. Shaftesbury notes that “Here therefore arises Work and Employment for us Within: ‘To regulate Fancy, and rectify “Opinion, on which all depends.’”(MR 121) For a fuller discussion of these points, see Den Uyl, (1998).↩

45. “Strange! That there shou’d be in Nature the Idea of an Order and Perfection, which Nature her-self wants! That Beings which arise from Nature shou’d be so perfect, as to discover Imperfections in her Constitution; and be wise enough to correct that Wisdom by which they were made. ”The Moralists,” in the Chaacteristicks,160.↩