Adam Smith · Complete work
Part IV, Chapter I, 2
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But though this splenetic philosophy, which in time of sickness or low spirits is familiar to every man, thus entirely depreciates those great objects of human desire, when in better health and in better humour, we never fail to regard them under a more agreeable aspect. Our imagination, which in pain and sorrow seems to be confined and cooped up within our own persons, in times of ease and prosperity expands itself to every thing around us. We are then charmed with the beauty of that accommodation which reigns in the palaces and œconomy of the great; and admire how every thing is adapted to promote their ease, to prevent their wants, to gratify their wishes, and to amuse and entertain their most frivolous desires. If we consider the real satisfaction which all these things are capable of affording, by itself and separated from the beauty of that arrangement which is fitted to promote it, it will always appear in the highest degree contemptible and trifling. But we rarely view it in this abstract and philosophical light. We naturally confound it in our imagination with the order, the regular and harmonious movement of the system, the machine or œconomy by means of which it is produced. The pleasures of wealth and greatness, when considered in this complex view, strike the imagination as something grand and beautiful and noble, of which the attainment is well worth all the toil and anxiety which we are so apt to bestow upon it.
And it is well that nature imposes upon us in this manner. It is this deception which rouses and keeps in continual motion the industry of mankind. It is this which first prompted them to cultivate the ground, to build houses, to found cities and commonwealths, and to invent and improve all the sciences and arts, which ennoble and embellish human life; which have entirely changed the whole face of the globe, have turned the rude forests of nature into agreeable and fertile plains, and made the trackless and barren ocean a new fund of subsistence, and the great high road of communication to the different nations of the earth. The earth by these labours of mankind has been obliged to redouble her natural fertility, and to maintain a greater multitude of inhabitants. It is to no purpose, that the proud and unfeeling landlord views his extensive fields, and without a thought for the wants of his brethren, in imagination consumes himself the whole harvest that grows upon them. The homely and vulgar proverb, that the eye is larger than the belly, never was more fully verified than with regard to him. The capacity of his stomach bears no proportion to the immensity of his desires, and will receive no more than that of the meanest peasant. The rest he is obliged to distribute among those, who prepare, in the nicest manner, that little which he himself makes use of, among those who sit up the palace in which this little is to be consumed, among those who provide and keep in order all the different baubles and trinkets, which are employed in the œconomy of greatness; all of whom thus derive from his luxury and caprice, that share of the necessaries of life, which they would in vain have expected from his humanity or his justice. The produce of the soil maintains at all times nearly that number of inhabitants, which it is capable of maintaining. The rich only select from the heap what is most precious and agreeable. They consume little more than the poor, and in spite of their natural selfishness and rapacity, though they mean only their own conveniency, though the sole end which they propose from the labours of all the thousands whom they employ, be the gratification of their own vain and insatiable desires, they divide with the poor the produce of all their improvements. They are led by an invisible hand to make nearly the same distribution of the necessaries of life, which would have been made, had the earth been divided into equal portions among all its inhabitants, and thus without intending it, without knowing it, advance the interest of the society, and afford means to the multiplication of the species. When Providence divided the earth among a few lordly masters, it neither forgot nor abandoned those who seemed to have been left out in the partition. These last too enjoy their share of all that it produces. In what constitutes the real happiness of human life, they are in no respect inferior to those who would seem so much above them. In ease of body and peace of mind, all the different ranks of life are nearly upon a level, and the beggar, who suns himself by the side of the highway, possesses that security which kings are fighting for.
The same principle, the same love of system, the same regard to the beauty of order, of art and contrivance, frequently serves to recommend those institutions, which tend to promote the public welfare. When a patriot exerts himself for the improvement of any part of the public police, his conduct does not always arise from pure sympathy with the happiness of those who are to reap the benefit of it. It is not commonly from a fellow-feeling with carriers and waggoners that a public-spirited man encourages the mending of high roads. When the legislature establishes premiums and other encouragements to advance the linen or woollen manufactures, its conduct seldom proceeds from pure sympathy with the wearer of cheap or fine cloth, and much less from that with the manufacturer, or merchant. The perfection of police, the extension of trade and manufactures, are noble and magnificent objects. The contemplation of them pleases us, and we are interested in whatever can tend to advance them. They make part of the great system of government, and the wheels of the political machine seem to move with more harmony and ease by means of them. We take pleasure in beholding the perfection of so beautiful and grand a system, and we are uneasy till we remove any obstruction that can in the least disturb or encumber the regularity of its motions. All constitutions of government, however, are valued only in proportion, as they tend to promote the happiness of those who live under them. This is their sole use and end. From a certain spirit of system, however, from a certain love of art and contrivance, we sometimes seem to value the means more than the end, and to be eager to promote the happiness of our fellow-creatures, rather from a view to perfect and improve a certain beautiful and orderly system, than from any immediate sense or feeling of what they either suffer or enjoy. There have been men of the greatest public spirit, who have shewn themselves in other respects not very sensible to the feelings of humanity. And on the contrary, there have been men of the greatest humanity, who seem to have been entirely devoid of public spirit. Every man may find in the circle of his acquaintance instances both of the one kind and the other. Who had ever less humanity, or more public spirit, than the celebrated legislator of Muscovy? The social and well natured James the First of Great Britain seems, on the contrary, to have had scarce any passion, either for the glory, or the interest of his country. Would you awaken the industry of the man, who seems almost dead to ambition, it will often be to no purpose to describe to him the happiness of the rich and the great; to tell him that they are generally sheltered from the sun and the rain, that they are seldom hungry, that they are seldom cold, and that they are rarely exposed to weariness, or to want of any kind. The most eloquent exhortation of this kind will have little effect upon him. If you would hope to succeed, you must describe to him the conveniency and arrangement of the different apartments in their palaces, you must explain to him the propriety of their equipages, and point out to him the number, the order, and the different offices of all their attendants. If any thing is capable of making impression upon him, this will. Yet all these things tend only to keep off the sun and the rain, to save them from hunger and cold, from want and weariness. In the same manner, if you would implant public virtue in the breast of him, who seems heedless of the interest of his country, it will often be to no purpose to tell him, what superior advantages the subjects of a well-governed state enjoy; that they are better lodged, that they are better clothed, that they are better fed. These considerations will commonly make no great impression. You will be more likely to persuade, if you describe the great system of public police which procures these advantages, if you explain the connexions and dependencies of its several parts, their mutual subordination to one another, and their general subserviency to the happiness of the society; if you show how this system might be introduced into his own country, what it is that hinders it from taking place there at present, how those obstructions might be removed, and all the several wheels of the machine of government be made to move with more harmony and smoothness, without grating upon one another, or mutually retarding one another’s motions. It is scarce possible that a man should listen to a discourse of this kind, and not feel himself animated to some degree of public spirit. He will, at least for the moment, feel some desire to remove those obstructions, and to put into motion so beautiful and so orderly a machine. Nothing tends so much to promote public spirit as the study of politics, of the several systems of civil government, their advantages and disadvantages, of the constitution of our own country, its situation, and interest with regard to foreign nations, its commerce, its defence, the disadvantages it labours under, the dangers to which it may be exposed, how to remove the one, and how to guard against the other. Upon this account political disquisitions, if just and reasonable, and practicable, are of all the works of speculation the most useful. Even the weakest and the worst of them are not altogether without their utility. They serve at least to animate the public passions of men, and rouse them to seek out the means of promoting the happiness of the society.
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.
Although this gloomy philosophy, familiar to everyone in sickness or low spirits, utterly devalues the great objects of human desire, in better health and better humor we never fail to see them more favorably. Our imagination, seemingly shut up within ourselves when we suffer pain and sorrow, expands in times of ease and prosperity to take in everything around us. We are then captivated by the beauty of the arrangements that prevail in the palaces and households of the great. We admire how everything is designed to promote their comfort, anticipate their needs, gratify their wishes, and amuse and entertain even their most frivolous desires. If we consider by itself the actual satisfaction all these things can give, apart from the beauty of the arrangements designed to produce it, that satisfaction always appears contemptibly small and trivial. But we seldom view it in this abstract, philosophical light. In our imagination we naturally confuse it with the order and the regular, harmonious motion of the system, machine, or establishment that produces it. Seen in this combined light, the pleasures of wealth and greatness strike the imagination as grand, beautiful, and noble—well worth all the effort and anxiety we are so ready to spend on acquiring them.
And it is well that nature deceives us in this way. This deception awakens human industry and keeps it in constant motion. It first prompted people to cultivate the land, build houses, found cities and commonwealths, and invent and improve all the sciences and arts that dignify and adorn human life. These endeavors have utterly changed the face of the globe, turning nature's rough forests into pleasant, fertile plains and making the trackless, barren ocean a new source of sustenance and a great highway of communication among the nations of the earth. Through these human labors, the earth has been made to redouble its natural fertility and sustain a greater multitude of inhabitants. It does the proud and unfeeling landowner no good to look over his vast fields and imagine consuming their entire harvest himself without a thought for his fellows' needs. The homely proverb that the eye is larger than the belly has never been truer than it is of him. The capacity of his stomach bears no relation to the immensity of his desires: it can hold no more than the stomach of the poorest peasant. He must distribute the rest among the people who prepare with the greatest care the little he uses himself, among those who furnish the palace in which that little is consumed, and among those who supply and care for all the various baubles and trinkets employed in the household of greatness. Thus all receive from his luxury and whims a share of life's necessities that they could have hoped for in vain from his humanity or justice. The produce of the land always sustains nearly as many inhabitants as it is capable of sustaining. The rich merely pick from the common heap what is most prized and agreeable. They consume little more than the poor; and despite their natural selfishness and greed, though they seek only their own convenience, though the sole purpose they have in employing thousands of laborers is to gratify their own vain and insatiable desires, they share with the poor the produce of all their improvements. An invisible hand leads them to make nearly the same distribution of life's necessities that would have occurred if the earth had been divided equally among all its inhabitants. Thus, without intending or knowing it, they advance the interests of society and provide for the multiplication of humankind. When Providence divided the earth among a few lordly masters, it neither forgot nor abandoned those apparently excluded from the division. They too enjoy their share of all it produces. In what makes up the true happiness of human life, they are in no way inferior to those who appear to stand so far above them. As regards bodily ease and peace of mind, all ranks of life are nearly equal, and the beggar warming himself in the sun beside the highway possesses the security for which kings fight.
The same principle, the same love of systems and of the beauty of order, art, and ingenuity, often recommends institutions that advance the public welfare. When a patriot works to improve some part of public administration, he is not always moved by pure sympathy for the happiness of its beneficiaries. It is not usually fellow feeling for carriers and wagon drivers that makes a public-spirited person encourage road repairs. When a legislature offers premiums and other incentives to promote linen or wool manufacturing, it seldom acts from pure sympathy for the wearer of cheap or fine cloth, and even less for the manufacturer or merchant. Excellent public administration and flourishing trade and manufacturing are noble and magnificent objects. Thinking about them pleases us, and we take an interest in everything that can advance them. They form part of the great system of government, whose wheels seem to turn more smoothly and harmoniously because of them. We delight in seeing such a beautiful and grand system perfected, and remain uneasy until we remove anything that might obstruct or even slightly disrupt the regularity of its motion. Yet every form of government is valued only insofar as it promotes the happiness of the people living under it. That is its sole use and purpose. From a certain spirit of system, however, a love of art and ingenuity, we sometimes seem to prize the means above the end. We appear eager to promote our fellow creatures' happiness less from any immediate feeling for their sufferings or pleasures than from a wish to perfect and improve an orderly, beautiful system. Some people with the greatest public spirit have otherwise shown little sensitivity to humane feeling. Conversely, some people of the greatest humanity seem entirely lacking in public spirit. Everyone can find examples of both among acquaintances. Who ever had less humanity, or more public spirit, than the celebrated legislator of Muscovy? By contrast, the sociable and good-natured James the First of Great Britain seems to have felt scarcely any passion for either his country's glory or its interests. If you wish to rouse an industrious spirit in a man who seems nearly dead to ambition, you will often gain nothing by describing the happiness of the rich and great, telling him that they are generally sheltered from sun and rain, seldom hungry or cold, and rarely subject to weariness or deprivation of any kind. Even the most eloquent appeal of this kind will have little effect. To have any hope of success, describe instead the convenience and arrangement of the rooms in their palaces; explain the fitness of their carriages, and set out the number, order, and various duties of their attendants. If anything can impress him, this can. Yet all these things serve only to keep out sun and rain and spare their owners hunger, cold, deprivation, and fatigue. Likewise, if you wish to plant public virtue in someone who seems indifferent to his country's interests, it will often do no good to tell him of the greater advantages enjoyed by the subjects of a well-governed state: better housing, better clothes, better food. Such considerations will usually leave little impression. You will be likelier to persuade him if you describe the great system of public administration that secures these benefits; if you explain the connections and dependencies between its parts, their mutual subordination, and their shared service to society's happiness; if you show how such a system could be established in his own country, what currently prevents it, how those obstacles might be removed, and how every wheel in the machinery of government might turn more smoothly and harmoniously, without grating against or hindering any other. A person can scarcely hear such an account without feeling some degree of public spirit come alive in him. For the moment, at least, he will wish to remove those obstacles and set so beautiful and orderly a machine in motion. Nothing does more to foster public spirit than the study of politics: the various systems of civil government and their advantages and disadvantages; our own country's constitution, its position and interests in relation to other nations, its commerce and defense, the disadvantages it labors under, the dangers it faces, and ways to remove the former and guard against the latter. For this reason political inquiries, when sound, reasonable, and practicable, are the most useful of all works of speculation. Even the weakest and worst of them are not wholly useless. At least they stir people's public passions and rouse them to seek ways of advancing society's happiness.
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).
When we are sick or low in spirits, it is common to look at the things people most desire in this bleak way and see no value in them. Yet when our health and mood improve, we always see them in a more attractive light. In pain and sorrow, our imagination seems shut up inside us. In comfort and success, it spreads out to everything around us. We then admire the beautiful conveniences of great houses and the way wealthy households are run. We marvel at how everything is arranged to make life easy for their owners, meet their needs, satisfy their wishes, and entertain even their most trivial desires. Consider just the real pleasure these things provide, apart from the beauty of the arrangements made to provide it, and it looks utterly insignificant. But we rarely look at it in this detached, philosophical way. In our minds, we naturally blend the pleasure with the orderly, smooth-working system—the machine or household organization—that produces it. Seen together, the pleasures of wealth and high rank seem splendid, beautiful, and noble. We think they are well worth all the work and anxiety we so readily spend on gaining them.
It is a good thing that nature misleads us in this way. This illusion starts and sustains human industry. It first moved people to cultivate land, build houses, establish cities and states, and invent and improve all the sciences and arts that make human life richer and more beautiful. These efforts have changed the entire face of the earth. They have turned wild forests into pleasant, fertile plains, and made the barren ocean, once without paths, a new source of food and a major highway connecting the world's nations. Human labor has forced the earth to produce much more food and support many more people. A proud, unfeeling landowner may look over his vast fields and imagine eating their entire harvest himself, without a thought for what others need. But the homely saying that our eyes are bigger than our stomachs applies especially well to him. However large his desires, his stomach holds no more than that of the poorest peasant. He must distribute the rest to the people who carefully prepare the little he eats, who furnish the palace where he eats it, and who supply and maintain all the different ornaments and gadgets used in his grand household. His luxury and whims thus provide them with necessities that they could never expect from his kindness or justice. At any time, the land's produce supports approximately as many people as it is capable of supporting. The rich merely pick the most desirable items from the pile. They consume little more than the poor. Although they are naturally selfish and greedy, care only about their own comfort, and employ thousands of people solely to satisfy their empty, insatiable wishes, they share with the poor everything produced by improvements to the land. An invisible hand leads them to distribute life's necessities almost as they would be distributed if the earth had been divided equally among all its inhabitants. Without intending or realizing it, they promote society's interests and help the human population grow. When Providence divided the earth among a few powerful owners, it did not forget or abandon the people who seemed to get no land. They too enjoy a share of everything it produces. In what makes life truly happy, they are no worse off than those who appear to stand so far above them. Physical comfort and peace of mind are nearly equal across every rank of life. A beggar basking in the sun by the roadside possesses the security that kings fight to gain.
The same love of systems, of orderly and clever design, often makes institutions that help the public look attractive to us. A patriot working to improve some part of public administration is not always motivated by a direct concern for the happiness of those who will benefit. A civic-minded person does not usually support road repairs out of fellow feeling for the drivers and haulers who use the roads. When lawmakers offer prizes and other incentives to improve linen or wool production, they are seldom moved by direct concern for people who wear cheap or fine cloth, and still less by concern for the producers and sellers. Well-run public services and expanding trade and industry are impressive, ambitious goals. We enjoy thinking about them and take an interest in anything that helps them grow. They are parts of the great system of government. With these improvements, the wheels of the political machine seem to turn more smoothly together. We like seeing such a large, beautiful system work well, and we are uncomfortable until we remove anything that might disrupt or slow its orderly movement. Yet every form of government is valuable only insofar as it makes the people living under it happy. That is its only purpose. But love of a well-designed system sometimes makes us value the means more than the goal. We may want to improve the lives of others more because we want to perfect a beautiful, orderly system than because we directly feel what they suffer or enjoy. Some exceptionally civic-minded people have shown little sensitivity to human feelings in other ways. Conversely, some very humane people have shown no public spirit at all. Everyone can find examples of both among the people they know. Who had less humanity, or more public spirit, than the famous lawmaker of Muscovy? By contrast, the sociable and good-natured James the First of Great Britain seems to have cared very little about either his country's glory or its interests. Suppose you want to stir an unambitious man into working harder. It may do no good to describe how happy the rich and powerful are. You might say that they are usually protected from sun and rain, seldom hungry or cold, and rarely exhausted or in need of anything. Even an eloquent appeal along these lines will have little effect. To have any hope of success, you must describe how conveniently the rooms in their palaces are arranged. Explain how well suited their carriages are to their purpose. Point out the number of their attendants, their orderly arrangement, and the different tasks they perform. If anything can impress the man, that will. Yet all these arrangements only protect their owners from sun, rain, hunger, cold, need, and exhaustion. In the same way, suppose you want to give a person who cares little for his country a concern for the public good. It may be useless to tell him that people in a well-governed country enjoy better housing, clothing, and food. Such facts generally make little impression. You are more likely to persuade him by describing the great system of public administration that provides these benefits. Explain how its parts are connected and depend on each other, how each serves the others, and how all work toward society's happiness. Show how his country might adopt such a system, what currently prevents it, and how to remove those obstacles. Describe how the various wheels of government could then turn together more smoothly, without grinding against or slowing each other down. A person can hardly listen to an account like this without feeling at least somewhat inspired to work for the public good. For the moment, at least, he will want to remove the obstacles and set such a beautiful, orderly machine in motion. Nothing encourages public spirit more than studying politics: different systems of government and their strengths and weaknesses, our own country's constitution, its position and interests in relation to other nations, its trade and defense, its disadvantages and dangers, and how to remove the disadvantages and guard against the dangers. That is why sound, reasonable, workable discussions of politics are the most useful works of theoretical inquiry. Even the weakest and worst have some use. They can at least stir people's concern for public affairs and prompt them to seek ways of making society happier.