He would pursue his business or his pleasure, take his repose or his diversion, with the same ease and tranquillity, as if no such accident had happened.

Still recovering from surgery on my feet which has induced problems with my knees and all exacerbated by rheumatoid arthritis, there are nights of fitful or minimal sleep.  In those dark hours, I turn to the thoughts and ideas of the geniuses of earlier times.  Sometimes that accelerates the return to sleep.  And sometimes an idea takes hold and I turn it around and around, examining it.  Either outcome is good.  

Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments always warrants perusal.  The Theory of Moral Sentiments was published in 1759 though Smith continued to refine it in new editions up until his death.  While An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, published by Smith in 1776 has probably been more consequential, particularly in terms of economics, international relations, and trade, I think The Theory of Moral Sentiments casts a wider net of thought and is rich with still pertinent insight.  

Last night, having taken some medicine and waiting for the relief from pain to kick in, I came across this passage.

Let us suppose that the great empire of China, with all its myriads of inhabitants, was suddenly swallowed up by an earthquake, and let us consider how a man of humanity in Europe, who had no sort of connection with that part of the world, would be affected upon receiving intelligence of this dreadful calamity. He would, I imagine, first of all express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that unhappy people, he would make many melancholy reflections upon the precariousness of human life and the vanity of all the labors of man, which could thus be annihilated in a moment. He would, too, perhaps, if he was a man of speculation, enter into many reasonings concerning the effects which this disaster might produce upon the commerce of Europe and the trade and business of the world in general. And when all this fine philosophy was over, when all these humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed, he would pursue his business or his pleasure, take his repose or his diversion with the same ease and tranquility as if no such accident had happened. The most frivolous disaster which could befall himself would occasion a more real disturbance. If he were to lose his little finger tomorrow, he would not sleep tonight; but, provided he never saw them, he will snore with the most profound security over the ruin of a hundred millions of his brethren and the destruction of that immense multitude seems plainly an object less interesting to him than this paltry misfortune of his own. To prevent, therefore, this paltry misfortune to himself, would a man of humanity be willing to sacrifice the lives of a hundred millions of his brethren provided he had never seen them? Human nature startles with horror at the thought, and the world, in its greatest depravity and corruption, never produced such a villain as could be capable of entertaining it. But what makes this difference? When our passive feelings are almost always so sordid and so selfish, how comes it that our active principles should often be so generous and so noble? When we are always so much more deeply affected by whatever concerns ourselves than by whatever concerns other men, what is it which prompts the generous upon all occasions, and the mean upon many, to sacrifice their own interests to the greater interests of others? It is not the soft power of humanity, it is not that feeble spark of benevolence which nature has lighted up in the human heart that is thus capable of counteracting the strongest impulses of self-love. It is a stronger power, a more forcible motive, which exerts itself upon such occasions. It is reason, principle, conscience, the inhabitant of the breast, the man within, the great judge, and arbiter of our conduct. It is he who whenever we are about to act so as to affect the happiness of others calls to us with a voice capable of astonishing the most presumptuous of our passions that we are but one of the multitude in no respect better than any other in it; and that when we prefer ourselves so shamefully and so blindly to others, we become the proper objects of resentment, abhorrence, and execration. It is from him only that we learn the real littleness of ourselves, and of whatever relates to ourselves, and the natural misrepresentations of self-love can be corrected only by the eye of this impartial spectator. It is he who shows us the propriety of generosity and the deformity of injustice, the propriety of resigning the greatest interests of our own for the yet greater interests of others, and the deformity of doing the smallest injury to another in order to obtain the greatest benefit to ourselves. 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 honorable and noble, of the grandeur and dignity and superiority of our own characters.

In solitude, we are apt to feel too strongly whatever relates to ourselves: we are apt to overrate the good offices we may have done and the injuries we may have suffered; we are apt to be too much elated by our own good and too much dejected by our own bad fortune. The conversation of a friend brings us to a better, that of a stranger to a still better temper. The man within the breast, the abstract and ideal spectator of our sentiments and conduct, requires often to be awakened and put in mind of his duty, by the presence of the real spectator; and it is always from that spectator, from whom we can expect the least sympathy and indulgence, that we are likely to learn the most complete lesson of self-command.

 

Beautiful writing and wonderful reasoning.  

The world is vast and uncertain, we are particular and our concerns, though often misplaced, seem at least certain to ourselves.  Why do we humans sometimes rise above ourselves and our selfish narrow certainties?  He follows the above reasoning with:

When the happiness or misery of others depends in any respect upon our conduct, we dare not, as self-love might suggest to us, prefer the interest of one to that of many. The man within immediately calls to us, that we value ourselves too much and other people too little, and that, by doing so, we render ourselves the proper object of the contempt and indignation of our brethren. Neither is this sentiment confined to men of extraordinary magnanimity and virtue. It is deeply impressed upon every tolerably good soldier, who feels that he would become the scorn of his companions, if he could be supposed capable of shrinking from danger, or of hesitating, either to expose or to throw away his life, when the good of the service required it.

Is there anything different today?  Are we as able to rise above smallness?

I think Smith's observations and reasoning remain true.  People are able to set aside their parochial interests and consider a bigger picture.  The nature of the system remains the same, it is the context which has changed.

At the time of his writing, life expectancy was 43 years in the developed world.  It is now about 80, a near doubling, for each of us, in our time on earth.  In 1750 in the developed world, poverty and near-poverty was the reality of life for the bulk of the population.  In developed countries today, poverty as historically known and experienced, has essentially been eradicated.  Only 9% of the whole world is in absolute poverty compared to some 90% a mere 150 years ago.

And of course, with the internet, accessibility of knowledge is near universal and near free.  

A far greater proportion of the population are now able to consider being generous than were able to do so 250 years ago.  Not only are more people able to be generous at all but they are also able to be more generous than in times past.  Generosity had a far higher cost to those being generous in the past than it does today.

This is historically unprecedented.  We are not culturally evolved to be able to be very generous most of the time.  How can we individually and collectively be more effective in our generosity?  There is a whole movement, Effective Altruism, which is focused on this issue.  

But the issue is further complicated by a rising atomization of modern society compared to the past.  Not only are we richer and more able to be generous, but we are more disconnected and isolated from our fellow man.  

In the US, since only 1920, the average residence has nearly tripled in size (1,000 square feet to 2,700) and the average square footage per resident person has more than quadrupled (242 square feet in 1920 to 1,067 in 2014).  In 1850, less than 1 percent of the U.S. population aged 18 years and older lived alone. Today, about 15 percent of all Americans live alone.  We have the luxury of distance in a way that we never had before.  

Independent of space, we seem also to be becoming more socially independent.  In 1990, 3% of Americans reported having no close friends.  By 2021, that number had quadrupled to 12% reporting having no friends.  

The percent who never marry in the US has nearly tripled from 9% in 1970 to 35% in 2018.  

In some ways this prosperity is miraculous and liberating.  At the same time, just when we are more able to be more generous, we are also living in more solitude.  Repeating Smith:

In solitude, we are apt to feel too strongly whatever relates to ourselves: we are apt to overrate the good offices we may have done and the injuries we may have suffered; we are apt to be too much elated by our own good and too much dejected by our own bad fortune.

As an aside, perhaps this is one of the roots of the polarization which is so greatly ballyhooed in politics (a trend which might be real but also might be more ballyhooed than real).  If 100% of the population were accustomed to making very difficult trade-off decisions while operating within sharp constraints 250 years ago and now perhaps 30% of the population is not only prosperous but also functionally withdrawn from society, able to indulge convictions without themselves being challenged but human interaction, then it would not be surprising to see rising polarization.  

John Donne's

No man is an island entire of itself; every man 

is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; 

if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe 

is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as 

well as any manner of thy friends or of thine 

own were; any man's death diminishes me, 

because I am involved in mankind. 

And therefore never send to know for whom 

the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.  

Perhaps now only 70% are still involved in mankind.  The other 30% are not but they still have strong views as to how they can spend their money in order to make others "better."  Altruism without foundation, balance or respect.   

My suspicion is that our increasing capacity to be generous is undermined by our increasing distance from others, causing our generosity to be less effective and perhaps even more destructive.  This is known as Pathological Altruism

Altruism in which attempts to promote the welfare of others instead result in unanticipated harm.

Virtually all foreign aid falls into this category (see Doing Bad by Doing Good: Why Humanitarian Action Fails by Christopher J. Coyne), as do most social programs and much personal generosity.  We simply do not know others as well as we might wish that we did, we understand their circumstances, choices and constraints less and yet we have the money to try and "fix" things.  

We lack the humility to acknowledge the agency of other people whom we do not understand.  We want to fix them with our knowledge and goals and money without taking them into consideration and we end up making things worse.  

Adam Smith was one of the heralds of the Age of Enlightenment.  The values and practices of that mindset created our modern productivity and prosperity.  I believe his description of human nature and the innateness of our inclination towards generosity remains true.

What has changed, though, is that through the productivity unleashed by the Age of Enlightenment mindset, we, individually and collectively, now have resources to throw at (or impose upon) other people's problems with less than a conscientious attention to either their agency or the results of our generosity.  We end up indulging ourselves by feeling good about our efforts to be generous without imposing upon ourselves the discipline of knowing whether or not we actually did make things better.  

Whenever I hear an NPR broadcaster, read a New York Times editorial, consider the arguments of some some person from an advocacy group, I usually have the visceral response which Adams so well articulates.  I cannot help but feel that

. . .  when all this fine philosophy was over, when all these humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed, he would pursue his business or his pleasure, take his repose or his diversion with the same ease and tranquility as if no such accident had happened.

 

There is a fine line between those who undertake generous actions for "the love of what is honorable and noble, of the grandeur and dignity and superiority of our own characters" and those who undertake generous actions in order to be seen to love "what is honorable and noble, of the grandeur and dignity and superiority of our own characters."  The difference between true honor and nobility and simulated honor and nobility.