The Theory of Moral Sentiments

Prudence consists in “care of the health, of the fortune, of the rank and reputation of the individual” (198). The prudent man “always studies seriously and earnestly to understand whatever he professes to understand, and not merely to persuade other people that he understands it” (198). He is “always sincere” (198), “always very capable of friendship” (198), and “always perfectly inoffensive” in his speech (198). His “steadiness” in “industry and frugality” never fails to win “the entire approbation of the impartial spectator” (198-99). As a virtue, therefore, prudence “commands a certain cold esteem,” though it is “not entitled to any very ardent love or admiration” (201).

Part 6, Section 2 consists of three chapters designed to “explain the foundation of that order which nature seems to have traced out for the distribution of our good offices,” i.e., “our very limited powers of beneficence” (203). These chapters focus on our benevolence toward individuals, societies, and the universe as a whole.

As one would expect, the order by which nature recommends individuals to our care and attention begins with ourselves and our immediate family members. The “sympathy” that excites a man’s benevolence is “more strongly directed towards his children than towards his parents” (204). Brothers and sisters represent one’s “earliest friendships” (204). Even the “general rule” of benevolence toward one’s family, however, exists only among “the dutiful and the virtuous” (206). The best way to produce dutiful children is to “educate them in your own house” (206). Indeed, “[d]omestic education is the institution of nature—public education, the contrivance of man. It is surely unnecessary to say, which is likely to be the wisest” (206-07).

From the immediate family, our circle of affection might extend outward to include cousins and other distant relations. This is especially true in “pastoral countries,” where “different branches of the same family commonly choose to live in the neighborhood of one another,” and they are “all, from the highest to the lowest, of more or less importance to one another” (207). Friends and colleagues come next, followed by those who might not qualify as friends or colleagues per se but “whose benevolence we have ourselves already experienced” (209). Finally, there are those “distinguished by their extraordinary situation—the greatly fortunate and the greatly unfortunate, the rich and the powerful, the poor and the wretched” (210).

As is the case with individuals, the society to which we feel closest constitutes the primary object of our benevolent efforts. Unlike with individuals, however, our circle of affection does not extend much beyond our society, for “love of our own country seems not to be derived from the love of mankind” (213). Indeed, residents of neighboring countries often view one another as rivals, bemoaning their rivals’ successes and treating prosperity in general as a zero-sum game. “The most extensive public benevolence,” therefore, “which can commonly be exerted with any considerable effect, is that of the statesmen” who work to preserve “the balance of power,” which in turn preserves the peace (214). Too often, however, public servants are infected with the spirit of party. Factions emerge, each with their own cherished systems, and the “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” (216). Thus, a “man of system”—a fanatical devotee of one faction or another—“seems to imagine that he can arrange the different members of a great society with as much ease as the hand arranges the different pieces upon a chess-board” (217).

Although a man’s goodwill is free and unrestrained, this feeling of “universal benevolence,” though well meant, “can be the source of no solid happiness” to anyone who does not believe that all people “are under the immediate care of that great, benevolent, and all-wise Being” who governs nature (218). Indeed, the “wise and virtuous man” does not concern himself with circumstances beyond his control but instead shows “magnanimous resignation to the will” of God (219).

This is one of the book’s lengthiest undivided sections. Though it is not split into chapters, Part 6, Section 3 focuses on two distinct elements of self-command: (1) control of one’s passions and (2) self-estimation.

Drawing upon “ancient moralists,” Smith divides human passions into two categories: those that require “considerable exertion of self-command to restrain even for a moment,” such as fear and anger, and those that are, “by their continual and almost incessant solicitations […] very apt to mislead into great deviations,” such as “love of ease, of pleasure, of applause, and of many other selfish gratifications” (221). Command of fear always excites admiration, as does command of anger, though in truth the command of anger “is nothing but anger restrained and properly attempered to what the impartial spectator can enter into” (223). Command of those persistent, selfish temptations, though “less dazzling,” is often equally admired (225).

Self-estimation—the “judging of our own character and conduct”—involves two standards: first, “the idea of exact propriety and perfection,” and second, “that degree of approximation to this idea which is commonly attained in the world” (229). The “wise and virtuous man” always compares his own behavior to the standard of perfection forged in every man’s mind by “the slow, gradual, and progressive work of the great demigod within the breast” (230). On the contrary, those who compare their own behavior to the ordinary standard attained by others often fall victim to “excessive self-admiration” (232). It is true that men who overrate themselves sometimes achieve success as a consequence of it. Nonetheless, “the man of excessive self-estimation” can never enjoy the full sympathy of his neighbors, for the “wise men who see him the nearest, admire him the least” (235). A vice in its own right, excessive self-estimation produces the residual vices of pride and vanity.

Smith reviews the virtues examined in Section 6, including prudence, justice, beneficence, and self-command. When we act with prudence, justice, or beneficence, we contribute to our own happiness and that of others. More importantly, we act with “regard to the sentiments of the supposed impartial spectator” (243). Likewise, when we demonstrate self-command, we act in accordance with “the sentiments of the supposed impartial spectator” (244).