Adam Smith · Complete work
Part II, Section I, Chapter III
Part II, Section I, Chapter III of 54. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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That where there is no approbation of the conduct of the person who confers the benefit, there is little sympathy with the gratitude of him who receives it: and that, on the contrary, where there is no disapprobation of the motives of the person who does the mischief, there is no sort of sympathy with the resentment of him who suffers it.
It is to be observed, however, that, how beneficial soever on the one hand, or how hurtful soever on the other, the actions or intentions of the person who acts may have been to the person who is, if I may say so, acted upon, yet if in the one case there appears to have been no propriety in the motives of the agent, if we cannot enter into the affections which influenced his conduct, we have little sympathy with the gratitude of the person who receives the benefit: or if, in the other case, there appears to have been no impropriety in the motives of the agent, if, on the contrary, the affections which influenced his conduct are such as we must necessarily enter into, we can have no sort of sympathy with the resentment of the person who suffers. Little gratitude seems due in the one case, and all sort of resentment seems unjust in the other. The one action seems to merit little reward, the other to deserve no punishment.
1 First, I say, that wherever we cannot sympathize with the affections of the agent, wherever there seems to be no propriety in the motives which influenced his conduct, we are less disposed to enter into the gratitude of the person who received the benefit of his actions. A very small return seems due to that foolish and profuse generosity which confers the greatest benefits from the most trivial motives, and gives an estate to a man merely because his name and surname happen to be the same with those of the giver. Such services do not seem to demand any proportionable recompense. Our contempt for the folly of the agent hinders us from thoroughly entering into the gratitude of the person to whom the good office has been done. His benefactor seems unworthy of it. As when we place ourselves in the situation of the person obliged, we feel that we could conceive no great reverence for such a benefactor, we easily absolve him from a great deal of that submissive veneration and esteem which we should think due to a more respectable character; and provided he always treats his weak friend with kindness and humanity, we are willing to excuse him from many attentions and regards which we should demand to a worthier patron. Those Princes, who have heaped, with the greatest profusion, wealth, power, and honours, upon their favourites, have seldom excited that degree of attachment to their persons which has often been experienced by those who were more frugal of their favours. The well-natured, but injudicious prodigality of James the First of Great Britain seems to have attached no body to his person; and that Prince, notwithstanding his social and harmless disposition, appears to have lived and died without a friend. The whole gentry and nobility of England exposed their lives and fortunes in the cause of his more frugal and distinguishing son, notwithstanding the coldness and distant severity of his ordinary deportment.
2 Secondly, I say, That wherever the conduct of the agent appears to have been entirely directed by motives and affections which we thoroughly enter into and approve of, we can have no sort of sympathy with the resentment of the sufferer, how great soever the mischief which may have been done to him. When two people quarrel, if we take part with, and entirely adopt the resentment of one of them, it is impossible that we should enter into that of the other. Our sympathy with the person whose motives we go along with, and whom therefore we look upon as in the right, cannot but harden us against all fellow-feeling with the other, whom we necessarily regard as in the wrong. Whatever this last, therefore, may have suffered, while it is no more than what we ourselves should have wished him to suffer, while it is no more than what our own sympathetic indignation would have prompted us to inflict upon him, it cannot either displease or provoke us. When an inhuman murderer is brought to the scaffold, though we have some compassion for his misery, we can have no sort of fellow-feeling with his resentment, if he should be so absurd as to express any against either his prosecutor or his judge. The natural tendency of their just indignation against so vile a criminal is indeed the most fatal and ruinous to him. But it is impossible that we should be displeased with the tendency of a sentiment, which, when we bring the case home to ourselves, we feel that we cannot avoid adopting.
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the complete sixth-edition English text of all parts (the appended Dissertation on the Origin of Languages is not included) for fidelity, the author’s force and cadence, and modern clarity.
When we do not approve of the benefactor's conduct, we have little sympathy with the recipient's gratitude; conversely, when we do not disapprove of the wrongdoer's motives, we have no sympathy with the sufferer's resentment.
We must observe, however, that however beneficial or harmful an agent's actions or intentions may have been to the person acted upon, if in the first case the agent's motives appear to lack propriety, if we cannot enter into the feelings that governed his conduct, we feel little sympathy with the gratitude of the person who benefits. Or if, in the second case, there appears to be nothing improper in the agent's motives—if instead we cannot help sharing the feelings that governed his conduct—we cannot sympathize at all with the sufferer's resentment. Little gratitude seems owed in the first case, and any resentment seems unjust in the second. The first action seems to merit little reward; the second deserves no punishment.
1 First, wherever we cannot sympathize with an agent's feelings, wherever the motives behind his conduct appear to lack propriety, we are less inclined to share in the gratitude of the person benefited by his actions. Very little return seems owed for the foolish, extravagant generosity that confers the greatest benefits for the most trivial reasons—for example, giving a man an estate merely because he happens to have the same given name and surname as the giver. Such services do not seem to demand any corresponding repayment. Our contempt for the benefactor's folly prevents us from fully entering into the gratitude of the person he has helped. The benefactor seems unworthy of it. When we place ourselves in the recipient's position, we find we could feel little reverence for such a benefactor. We therefore readily release him from much of the deferential respect and esteem we would consider due to someone more respectable. Provided that he always treats his foolish friend with kindness and humanity, we are willing to excuse him from many attentions and marks of regard we would require toward a worthier patron. Princes who have showered wealth, power, and honors on their favorites with the greatest extravagance have seldom inspired the devotion that more sparing and discriminating princes have inspired. The kindly but ill-judged extravagance of James the First of Great Britain seems to have attached nobody to him; despite his sociable, harmless disposition, that Prince appears to have lived and died without a friend. The entire gentry and nobility of England risked their lives and fortunes for his more frugal and discerning son, despite the coldness and distant severity of his usual manner.
2 Second, wherever an agent's conduct appears to be wholly guided by motives and feelings we fully share and approve, we cannot sympathize at all with the sufferer's resentment, however great the harm he has suffered. When two people quarrel, if we side with one and wholly adopt his resentment, we cannot enter into the other's. Our sympathy with the person whose motives we share, whom we consequently believe to be in the right, must harden us against all fellow-feeling with the other, whom we necessarily consider in the wrong. Whatever the latter suffers, so long as it is no more than we ourselves would have wished him to suffer, no more than our sympathetic indignation would have moved us to inflict, it can neither displease nor provoke us. When an inhuman murderer is brought to the scaffold, though we feel some compassion for his misery, we cannot share his resentment if he is absurd enough to express any against his prosecutor or judge. The natural tendency of their just indignation against so vile a criminal is indeed utterly ruinous to him. Yet we cannot disapprove of the tendency of a feeling that, when we imagine the case as our own, we find we cannot help adopting.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the complete sixth-edition English text of all parts (the appended Dissertation on the Origin of Languages is not included).
If we do not approve of a benefactor's conduct, we have little sympathy with the recipient's gratitude. But if we do not disapprove of a person's reasons for causing harm, we have no sympathy with the victim's resentment.
However much a person's actions or intentions help or hurt someone else, we must also consider why that person acted. If his reasons for helping seem improper, and we cannot share the feelings that guided him, we feel little sympathy with the recipient's gratitude. If his reasons for causing harm do not seem improper, and we can fully share the feelings that guided him, we cannot share the victim's resentment at all. In the first case, little gratitude seems owed. In the second, any resentment seems unjust. The first action seems to deserve little reward, and the second none of the punishment.
1 First, when we cannot share the actor's feelings and see no propriety in his reasons for acting, we are less inclined to share the recipient's gratitude. Think of a foolish, extravagant man who gives another man an estate simply because they happen to have the same first and last names. Even such an enormous gift seems to call for only a small return when made for such a trivial reason. Our contempt for the giver's foolishness keeps us from fully sharing the recipient's gratitude. The benefactor seems unworthy of it. If we imagine ourselves in the recipient's place, we find that we could not feel great respect for a benefactor like this. We therefore do not require the recipient to show the deep respect and esteem we would expect him to show a more worthy benefactor. As long as he treats his foolish friend with kindness and humanity, we will excuse him from many signs of regard that we would demand toward a more deserving patron. Princes who have showered their favorites with wealth, power, and honors have seldom inspired as much personal loyalty as princes who handed out their favors more sparingly. James the First of Great Britain was kindhearted but foolishly lavish. His generosity seems to have won him no personal loyalty. Despite his friendly and harmless nature, he appears to have lived and died without a friend. His son gave favors more sparingly and chose their recipients more carefully. Though he was usually cold, distant, and stern, the whole English gentry and nobility risked their lives and fortunes for his cause.
2 Second, when we fully understand and approve of the feelings and reasons that guided someone, we cannot share the resentment of anyone harmed by his conduct, however great the harm. If two people quarrel and we take one person's side, fully sharing his resentment, we cannot also share the other's resentment. We share the feelings of the person whose reasons we approve of and therefore see him as right. This makes us unable to feel for the other person, whom we see as wrong. If he suffers no more than we would have wanted him to suffer, no more than our own shared indignation would have moved us to inflict, his suffering cannot displease or anger us. When a cruel murderer is led to execution, we may feel some pity for his misery. But if he is foolish enough to resent the person who prosecuted him or the judge, we cannot share that resentment. Their justified anger at such a vile criminal will have fatal consequences for him. Yet we cannot object to the effects of a feeling that, when we put ourselves in their position, we cannot help sharing.