Adam Smith, who attended Hutcheson’s lectures at Glasgow, and subsequently held the chair of moral philosophy there from 1752 to 1764, dissented from his teacher’s ‘amiable system’. He thought Hutcheson expected too much of people’s benevolence. We may remember the famous sentence from The Wealth of Nations: ‘It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest.’ When Smith set out his own system of moral philosophy in The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759), he placed the emphasis not on benevolence but on sympathy, and described its working in a complex way. Smith uses ‘sympathy’ to mean not benevolence or compassion, but ‘our fellow-feeling with any passion whatever’. Sympathy depends on imagination. It is the ability to put ourselves in another person’s shoes, to imagine what we would feel in their situation. We feel pleasure when our feelings correspond to another’s – that is, when the feelings he expresses are what we would experience in his situation. But we feel displeasure if his feelings appear to be either more or less than we would feel: if someone complains of a misfortune that would not upset us, or if someone pusillanimously accepts an injury which we would resent.
Smith insists that there is nothing selfish about sympathy. It would be selfish if, condoling with a bereaved father, I were to think about what I would feel if I were to lose a child. Sympathy goes much further: ‘I consider what I should suffer if I was really you, and I not only change circumstances with you, but I change persons and characters.’ Hence, I can feel sympathy with people whose misfortunes I could never possibly experience myself: Smith gives the example of a man sympathizing with the pains of a woman in labour.
Robertson, Ritchie. The Enlightenment: The Pursuit of Happiness, 1680-1790 (pp. 268-269). (Function). Kindle Edition.
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