How can us mere mortals, living in a ruthless, dog-eat-dog capitalist system, ever hope to obtain the sagacity and wisdom of a Stoic sage? Is it even possible to become wealthy or to better one’s condition in a way that is both logically and morally consistent with the main precepts of Stoic ethics? These questions are no minor intellectually masturbatory quibble. To the extent most people live in a “commercial society,” i.e. a society in which “Every man … lives by exchanging, or becomes in some measure a merchant ….” (Wealth of Nations, I.iv.1, p. 37), the Stoic-capitalist dilemma should be of interest to all. My contribution to these questions is to propose a Smithian solution to the Stoic-capitalist dilemma by imagining Adam Smith’s “impartial spectator” device as a Stoic sage–our inner Marcus Aurelius. (See my previous post.)
But at the same time, my Stoic portrait of Smith’s impartial spectator poses several deep questions that deserve further study. For starters, if a Stoic spectator is possible, what about a Kantian impartial spectator or an Hegelian or even a Nietzschean one? Is it possible to conjure up different versions of Smith’s impartial spectator, and if so, does this possibility undermine or bolster my argument for a Stoic spectator? In addition, the ontology of the impartial spectator is open to two radically different and diametrically opposed interpretations. Some Smith scholars conceptualize Smith’s imaginary entity as “an ideal observer with divine grounding whose normativity comes from an Archimedean point of view.” (Weinstein 2026, p. 174) Others, by contrast, “flatten” Smith’s imaginary spectator, seeing him as “a product of an individual agent’s imagination and therefore limited by the imaginer’s fallible capacities.” (ibid.) Which of these two pictures of the impartial spectator is the correct one, and does the divine interpretation rule out the possibility of a Stoic spectator? Is God a Stoic?
To recap my series on the “Stoic-capitalist” dilemma thus far, how can we promote our own interest while at the same time promoting the common good? Is it possible to solve this “Stoic-capitalist dilemma” or otherwise reconcile the pursuit of virtue with the pursuit of profit? My solution to this predicament builds on the “impartial spectator” device in Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments. More specifically, I would transform or repurpose Smith’s imaginary observer into a Stoic sage, an inner Marcus Aurelius, if you will. Simply put, instead of trying to become a Stoic sage (an all but impossible task), one consults one’s inner Stoic sage and tries to follow his example as best one can. Let me explain:
Although Adam Smith is mostly known today for his great political economy treatise An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, during his lifetime he also published another treatise on moral philosophy (six editions in all), which was originally titled The Theory of Moral Sentiments or “TMS” for short. It is in TMS where Smith introduces his “impartial spectator”—an imaginary, unbiased judge that helps individuals evaluate their own actions and emotions:
“When I endeavour to examine my own conduct, when I endeavour to pass sentence upon it, and either to approve or condemn it, it is evident that, in all such cases, I divide myself, as it were, into two persons; and that I, the examiner and judge, represent a different character from that other I, the person whose conduct is examined into and judged of.” (TMS, III.i.6)
In many ways, Smith’s spectator device is modelled after what Marcus Aurelius scholar William O. Stephens (2012, p. 110) refers to as Marcus Aurelius’ “big picture strategy” in Meditations, for the Roman emperor-philosopher makes many references to a proto-impartial spectator, so to speak, in his great work. He often refers to one’s “inner divinity” (ii.17), “the ruling power within us” (iv.1), and “[t]he directing and sovereign part of your soul” (v.26). Moreover, the Roman emperor-philosopher also invites us to “[t]ake the view from above” (ix.30), to imagine what the world would look like “if you were suddenly lifted up to a great height and could look down on human activity and see all its variety.” (xii.24) Accordingly, the leap in logic from Marcus Aurelius’ “view from above” to Adam Smith’s impartial observer thus entails, at most, one small step. Moreover, by repurposing or recasting Smith’s imaginary spectator as a Stoic sage, we not one but two separate problems:
First off, our inner Stoic sage can help us resolve the tension between Stoic ethics on the one hand—i.e. the pursuit of virtue for its own sake—and our capitalistic or bourgeois projects on the other—the pursuit of profits and the perpetual desire of bettering our condition. Marcus Aurelius (121–180 AD) was the supreme leader of one of the most powerful and prosperous empires in the history of the world, yet despite all his wealth and power he takes the time to describe his inner struggles—his attempts to cultivate his moral virtue and his rational judgement—even as he is fighting barbarian tribes and burying his own children. (see generally Stephens 2012, Ch. 1) If a Roman emperor is able to embody Stoic ideals while ruling a vast empire and leading men in battle, then why can’t we do so as we pursue profit opportunities or strive to better our condition in a capitalist system? In short, if Marcus Aurelius could do it, why can’t we? Perhaps with the help of an impartial spectator, our inner Marcus Aurelius, we can.
This imaginary impartial spectator/Stoic sage also solves an even deeper problem with Stoic ethics more generally: the unfeasibility, if not impossibility, of any mere mortal ever becoming a Stoic sage. To the point, how can anyone, especially in a commercial society like ours, ever hope to attain the moral perfection of a Stoic sage? After all, Stoic ethics is a demanding moral philosophy because Stoics define virtue as the only true good—what David Hume accurately but somewhat derisively refers to as “that grave philosophic Endeavor after Perfection.” (Hume 1742, p. 34) Everything else—health, money, reputation, etc.—are indifferents. Stoicism thus requires (i) total internal control over one’s emotions and judgements, (ii) constant self-examination to align one’s desires with nature, and (iii) indifference toward external events—in short, inner freedom over worldly success (cf. Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations). Is this ethical ideal even attainable, especially in a capitalist world, where ambition, material goods, and instant gratification are the order of the day?
Here is where Adam Smith’s imaginary Stoic sage comes into play. Smith’s spectator is, by definition, a made-up or imaginary entity, so why not imagine him as a Stoic wise man—a personalized Marcus Aurelius, so to speak. After all, even if Hume’s devastating critique of Stoicism is correct—even if Stoic perfection or moral virtue is an impossible ideal—we can still imagine what such an ideal might look like and use this ideal to inform our choices. Smith’s impartial spectator, recast as a Stoic sage, allows us to consult our “inner Marcus Aurelius.” Instead of trying to become or embody a Stoic sage—a difficult and perhaps impossible task—we imagine what an ideal Stoic sage would do or feel and act accordingly. In short, how to become a Stoic capitalist? Listen to your inner Marcus Aurelius!
Nota bene: I will conclude my series on the Stoic-capitalist dilemma in my next post.
In the immortal words of Marcus Aurelius: “First, nothing aimless or without ulterior reference. Second, no reference to any end other than the common good.” (Meditations, xii.20) In other words, our moral duties have a social dimension, not just a personal one, for we are not only born for cooperation—just like our hands, feet, and other limbs and body parts—we also share an even more general and inexorable moral duty to act on behalf of the common good, not just in our private self-interest.
On the surface, however, if there were ever an area of ethics where Stoic ideals and capitalist realities were most incompatible or incongruent, this would be it. After all, the logic of Stoicism is to promote the common good, while the logic of the capitalist system is to promote one’s own ends or self-interest and let the “invisible hand” work its magic.[1] But such a superficial interpretation of Stoic versus capitalist motives is incomplete, because as Robert Rosenkranz explains in The Stoic Capitalist, “Building a successful business adds something to society: perhaps important technological innovation, or a better way of meeting the needs of its customers, or a more efficient use of capital and other scarce resources, or a better opportunity for your employees to thrive ….” (Rosenkranz 2025, p. 186) Or in the immortal words of Adam Smith:
“By preferring the support of domestic to that of foreign industry, he [the capitalist] intends only his own security; and by directing that industry in such a manner as its produce may be of the greatest value, he intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention. Nor is it always the worse for the society that it was no part of it. By pursuing his own interest he frequently promotes that of the society more effectually than when he really intends to promote it.” (Wealth of Nations, IV.ii.9)
By way of further example, after presenting his woolen coat example in Book I, Chapter 1 of The Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith explains how capitalism has raising the standard of living of everyone, including ordinary “day-labourers”:
“Were we to examine, in the same manner, all the different parts of [the day-labourer’s] dress and household furniture, the coarse linen shirt which he wears next his skin, the shoes which cover his feet, the bed which he lies on, and all the different parts which compose it, the kitchen-grate at which he prepares his victuals, the coals which he makes use of for that purpose, dug from the bowels of the earth, and brought to him perhaps by a long sea and a long land carriage, all the other utensils of his kitchen, all the furniture of his table, the knives and forks, the earthen or pewter plates upon which he serves up and divides his victuals, the different hands employed in preparing his bread and his beer, the glass window which lets in the heat and the light, and keeps out the wind and the rain, with all the knowledge and art requisite for preparing that beautiful and happy invention, without which these northern parts of the world could scarce have afforded a very comfortable habitation, together with the tools of all the different workmen employed in producing those different conveniencies ….” (Wealth of Nations, I.i.11)
The contributions of the capitalist system to the common good thus become even more undeniable as soon as we take a step back and take a look at the big picture, as Marcus Aurelius enjoins himself (and us) to.[2] From a macro perspective, capitalism has improved the standard of living of more people and whole nations than any other economic or philosophical system in the history of the world. (Smith 1976) In short, what better or more effective method of promoting the overall good of so many people than global capitalist markets is there?
Alas, we are right back where we started: the impasse between our metaphorical Stoic and capitalist archers. (See my previous two posts on Stoic capitalism: here and here.) What matters for the Stoic archer is the intention to act on behalf of the common good, while what matters for the capitalist archer is the actual promotion of the common good, measured in terms of GDP, per capita income, or some other empirical metric. Does it matter, in short, whether the common good is the unintended result of the invisible hand, of self-regarding individuals pursuing their own self-interest? And what do we mean by “good”? (To be continued …)
[1] As an aside, I have tried to avoid referring to Adam Smith’s “invisible hand, for there is no consensus among Smith scholars about the true meaning of this magical forelimb. See, e.g., Guerra-Pujol & Rashid 2026, Ch. 1.
[2] Cf. Meditations, ix.30: “Take a view from above ….” Stephens (2012, p. 110) refers to this move as “Marcus’ ‘big picture” strategy.”
This version of the iconic Cuban patriotic song features several Latin legends, including Celia Cruz, La India, Isidro Infante, Ralph Mercado, Johnny Pacheco, and Tito Puente. I re-post it here in loving memory of my father, Don Francisco Guerra (16 Oct. 1943 — 2 May 2024). P.S.: I will resume my series on the Stoic-capitalist dilemma in my next post.
Today (2 May) is the two-year anniversary of the death of my father, Don Francisco Guerra. Although he did not live to see a free Cuba, my wife Sydjia and I will continue to honor his legacy by devoting our time and treasure to this Quixotic but noble and necessary cause as long as we remain alive. May my father’s lifelong dream of a free and prosperous Cuba come true soon!
Another moral dimension where Stoicism and capitalism overlap in part is that both systems embody a mixture of cooperation and competition. In the words of Marcus Aurelius, “We were born for cooperation …” (Meditations, ii.1) From a Stoic perspective, competition can also play a positive role in our moral development: competition is what allows us to hone our skills and develop our talents to the best of our abilities. Likewise, competition in economics is the lifeblood of capitalist system, for as Adam Smith showed long ago, competition is what lowers prices, keeps our selfish tendencies in check, and fuels innovation.
At the same time, cooperation is just as much a “capitalist virtue,” so to speak, as it is a Stoic one. Consider, for example, a simple pencil. In his classic essay “I, Pencil,” Leonard E. Read (1958) describes the complex global supply chain and the millions of people with specialized knowledge who cooperate to create a simple pencil.[1] This observation about capitalist cooperation goes back to Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations. In Book I, Chapter 1 of Smith’s magnum opus, the Scottish scholar shows how the production, distribution, and sale of an ordinary product—the “woollen coat” of an average day-labourer—results from myriad forms of cooperation involving a cast of thousands—nay, millions!—of different people from all over the world:
“Observe the accommodation of the most common artificer or day-labourer in a civilized and thriving country, and you will perceive that the number of people of whose industry a part, though but a small part, has been employed in procuring him this accommodation, exceeds all computation. The woollen coat, for example, which covers the day-labourer, as coarse and rough as it may appear, is the produce of the joint labour of a great multitude of workmen. The shepherd, the sorter of the wool, the wool-comber or carder, the dyer, the scribbler, the spinner, the weaver, the fuller, the dresser, with many others, must all join their different arts in order to complete even this homely production. How many merchants and carriers, besides, must have been employed in transporting the materials from some of those workmen to others who often live in a very distant part of the country! How much commerce and navigation in particular, how many ship-builders, sailors, sail-makers, rope-makers, must have been employed in order to bring together the different drugs made use of by the dyer, which often come from the remotest corners of the world! What a variety of labour too is necessary in order to produce the tools of the meanest of those workmen!” (Wealth of Nations, I.i.11)[2]
More amazingly, Adam Smith sees an infinite regress of cooperation in the capitalist system, for the woollen coat would not have been possible without “that very simple machine, the shears with which the shepherd clips the wool,” and the manufacture of those shears also requires “the assistance and co-operation of many thousands” of people: “the miner, the builder of the furnace for smelting the ore, the seller of the timber, the burner of the charcoal to be made use of in the smelting-house, the brick-maker, the brick-layer, the workmen who attend the furnace, the mill-wright, the forger, [and] the smith ….” (Ibid.) In short, whether we are describing the cooperation involved in the production, distribution, and sale of a pencil or a woolen coat, this Panglossian picture of diffuse human cooperation resembles one of Marcus Aurelius’ most memorable metaphors: the bees and the hive.[3] Like the limbs of one’s body, working together in perfect harmony, the individual bees in the hive are not only part of a greater and integral whole; they also cooperate with each other for the greater good of the whole colony.
But as soon as we dig a little deeper, we see how “capitalist cooperation” is qualitatively different from the type of Stoic cooperation that Marcus Aurelius champions on almost every single page of his Stoic Meditations. The great Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher conceives of cooperation as a conscious or deliberate act. He constantly has to remind himself to act for the benefit of the whole and the good of others.[4] Capitalist cooperation, on the other hand, is the unforeseen and unplanned result of millions of self-interested decisions made by untold numbers of people, i.e. Adam Smith’s famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) invisible hand. Should it matter whether the level of cooperation in any given society results from deliberate, other-regarding Stoic acts of pro-social cooperation (e.g. charity) or from self-regarding, profit-seeking actions of capitalist money-making activities (e.g. markets), i.e. the unintended product of an invisible hand?
On this note, let’s substitute the metaphor of the archer (see my previous post) with the metaphor of the football team. In a team sport, such as football, every player has an assigned position and a defined role to play during a game (e.g. linebacker, wide receiver, running back, etc.), and the outcome of any given game will depend on the individual contributions of each player as well as the collective performance of the team as a whole. A capitalist athlete, however, will focus on the outcome of the game; a stoic football player will focus on how the game was played, regardless of outcome. In other words, a Stoic values cooperation for its own sake; a capitalist, by contrast, values cooperation not for its own sake but for purely consequentialist reasons, i.e. for the mutual gains that such cooperation can engender. In other words, whether we conceptualize our lives as a team sport (football) or an individual endeavor (archery), the impasse or tension between pure Stoic motives (“The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts”) versus bottom-line capitalist results (“Show me the money!”) will not go away. (To be continued …)
[1] The legendary free market economist Milton Friedman popularized Leonard E. Read’s “I, Pencil” on an episode of his PBS television show “Free to Choose: The Power of the Market.” This iconic episode is available on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67tHtpac5ws (Free to Choose Network 2012). As a personal and biographical aside, it was this particular episode, which I first saw when I was still a child, that lead me to my scholarly interest in the capitalist system.
[2] As an aside, Smith makes use of only eight exclamation points in his entire 900-plus page magnum opus—three of those exclamations appear in the woolen coat passage quoted here.
[3] See, e.g., Meditations, v.6.2 (comparing “a bee that has made honey” to “a man that done good”), vi.54 (“What does not benefit the hive does not benefit the bee either”), and xi.18.9 (describing bees as gregarious creatures).
[4] Cf. Meditations, iv.3.2: “Recall the conclusion that rational creatures are born for each other’s sake ….”
Today (May 1st), I want to commemorate all the victims of communism — past and present — from all over the world. The myriad moral evils committed in the name of “equality” and “brotherhood” never cease to amaze me.
The Daily Stoic, a popular Internet platform created by Ryan Holiday (see here), sums up Stoicism in one sentence as follows: “A Stoic believes they don’t control the world around them, only how they respond–and that they must always respond with courage, temperance, wisdom, and justice.” (Daily Stoic, 4 Feb 2019) I will therefore start off my survey of Stoicism with the most famous Stoic moral precept of all: the crucial distinction between things that are in one’s power–i.e., one’s actions, thoughts, beliefs, desires, and judgments, all of which are entirely under one’s control–and externals or “indifferents” (ἀδιάφορον), such as one’s reputation, social status, and other people’s actions, none of which are ultimately under our control. This distinction is so crucial for the Stoics because it points us in the right moral direction, making it possible for us to live a good life by acting in harmony with nature and in accordance with reason.[1]
As it happens, the Stoic doctrine of indifferents is not just relevant to one’s moral life; it also plays out in the business world as well, for some business outcomes are the result of pure chance, of factors outside one’s control, while others are the result of one’s hard work and good planning. As such, a shrewd capitalist must be able to distinguish between luck and skill when making decisions.[2] Billionaire financier Robert Rosenkranz, for instance, illustrates this key capitalist mental trait by asking us to imagine a group of dart-throwing monkeys:
“By the laws of statistics, if 1,000 monkeys pick stocks by throwing darts at a stock table, 500 of them will do better than average in a year and 500 will do worse. Repeat the exercise and 250 will outperform two years in a row; 125 will outperform three years in a row…and so on until you have thirty-one monkeys with great five-year track records. Quite a few of those lucky monkeys will be showing up in your office, touting their billion-dollar hedge funds and encouraging you to invest with them. The challenge is to distinguish luck from skill in an investment track record.” (Rosenkranz 2025, p. 134; ellipsis in original)
But if we dig a little deeper, we will see just how superficial the parallel between these two distinctions is, between the astute capitalist’s ability in the business world to separate skill and luck and the Stoic ability in the moral realm to discern the difference between things that are in one’s power and things that are not. Simply put, the correspondence between these otherwise similar abilities breaks down for two reasons. One is that they are qualitatively different. Unlike the Stoic dichotomy of control in which things either are or are not in one’s control, the distinction between skill and luck in the business world is more a matter of degree, rather than two separate or self-contained categories. In fact, it would be more accurate to talk about a “luck-skill continuum” (see, e.g., Mauboussin 2012, pp. 174-174), since most business outcomes are the result of some combination of luck and skill.
But even if we put aside this qualitative difference, the other, more fundamental reason this correspondence breaks down is because the capitalist is focused on (literally) the bottom line, while the Stoic is focused on intentions, efforts, and character. We can use the Stoic archer metaphor (see, e.g., Stephens 2012, p. 94) to illustrate this crucial difference between capitalist and Stoic mindsets. On the one hand, the sole aim of the capitalist archer is to hit his target, so to speak (e.g, meet projected sales, expand market share, close a good deal, etc.). Why? Because in order to get ahead in the world of business (or to “better one’s condition” in the parlance of Adam Smith), you have to get results: “Show me the money!,” as the fictional sports agent Jerry Maguire would say. The main objective of the Stoic archer, by contrast, is more process-oriented as opposed to outcome-oriented: the Stoic archer will do his utmost to develop his skills and talents, but whether his arrows actually hit the target is an indifferent to the Stoic.[3] (To be continued …)
[1] Marcus Aurelius equates reason with nature in Meditations, 7.11: “For a rational being, to act in accordance with nature is also to act in accordance with reason.”
[3] Cf. Stephens 2012, p. 94: “The archer musters all her skill to try to hit the target. But once the well-aimed arrow is shot from her bow, what happens to the arrow is no longer up to her. If an external factor causes the arrow to miss the target, the archer has not failed to shoot expertly. Similarly, the Stoic who does all she can to act justly and wisely succeeds in hitting her target, even if the world is not caused to improve by her virtuous ‘shot’ (attempt).”
Can a fat-cat capitalist like Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk be on “Team Stoic”? On the one hand, “Stoic capitalism” sounds like an oxymoron, an incongruent combination of two competing and diametrically-opposed world views — one based on fleeting and insignificant “externals” (wages, capital, land, etc.); the other based on rational self-reflection and deep introspection. At best, wealth, material goods, and other externals are but secondary concerns or “preferred indifferents” in Stoic lingo. But at the same time, Stoic sages come in all shapes and sizes. Among the greatest Stoics of all time, for example, are a Greek slave (Epictetus), a Roman emperor (Marcus Aurelius), and a usurious tycoon (Seneca)! If a slave or an emperor can be a good Stoic, why can’t a CEO or a hedge fund manager?
But how far does this logic extend? Can a pirate or a bank robber be a good Stoic too? Building on the central tenets of Stoic philosophy and on Robert Rosenkranz’s new book The Stoic Capitalist, my next few posts will survey three moral domains where the sublime and ethereal world of Stoic ethics and the rough-and-tumble, dog-eat-dog world of free-market capitalism might intersect, after all: (i) the foundational Stoic doctrine of indifferents, (ii) the centrality of pro-social cooperation in Stoic ethics, as well as (iii) the Stoic moral imperative requiring us to promote the common good (cf. the “bee and hive” metaphor in Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations). Stay tuned. I will compare and contrast Stoic versus capitalist conceptions of the indifferents in my next post.
Last week, I read a fascinating memoir titled The Stoic Capitalist: Advice for the Exceptionally Ambitious (Bloomsbury, 2025). This beautiful book is intriguing for two reasons. One is that it was written by a modern-day Marcus Aurelius, the billionaire financier/philanthropist Robert Rosenkranz. The other is its iconoclastic title, which brings me back to the original “Adam Smith problem” of lore: what is the relationship between ethics and economics, between the pursuit of virtue and the pursuit of profit? More specifically, how can a life devoted to money, power, and material wealth–i.e. “the capitalist life”–be consistent with the pursuit virtue for its own sake, i.e. the wisdom of an ancient Stoic sage? How can we mix such sublime and ethereal Stoic ethical precepts as reverence of the divine and the love of wisdom and justice with the rough-and-tumble, dog-eat-dog world of stock markets and business deals, like vinegar and water, into a logically coherent and soul-cleansing whole? Stay tuned, for starting tomorrow (30 April) I will begin a new series of blog posts exploring these critical questions and the relationship between Stoic virtue and the capitalist ethos more generally.
Nota bene: Below is an excerpt from the last chapter (Ch. 13) of my forthcoming book with Salim Rashid, Das Adam Smith Problematic? Ethics, Economics and Society. (Footnotes are below the fold.)
“Which questions should we pose to Adam Smith, and which questions remain open or unanswered? Or is it the other way around? After all, as we have seen throughout the pages of this book, it is Adam Smith who still poses questions to us, and it is Smith who leaves it up to us to provide our own answers. We conclude, then, with the most difficult and contested open question of all, Das Legacy Problem. Who was Adam Smith, really? How should he be remembered? What is his true legacy?
“The deeper we dig into Smith’s life and work, the more surprises and contradictions we continue to find. He was a college dropout —but why did he drop out? He was a freelance lecturer — but where are those lectures? He is often described as an absent-minded college professor — but was he really all that absent-minded or was it just an act? He was also a tireless university administrator and general busybody — so how did Smith juggle his teaching and administrative duties? He was a jurisprude and doctor of law — yet he never practiced law, did he? He was an advisor to statesmen — yet his advice was never taken in his lifetime, was it? He was a tourist and tutor — but why give up his professorship? He was a solitary author — but how much of his Wealth of Nations did he borrow and how much did he steal? And he was a customs officer —cognitive dissonance, anyone? Doctor Smith was and did many things, all of which poses many more questions than answers.[1]
“For our part, given Smith’s many foundational contributions to the fields of moral philosophy and political economy, we are tempted to see Smith as the world’s first (and perhaps only) moral economist.[2] But we also have a nagging suspicion that none of these various pigeonholes or sundry labels can truly capture the many-sidedness of Adam Smith. We therefore conclude with the following conjecture: what if we have been getting Smith and his legacy completely wrong all along? After all, although Adam Smith is credited with creating an entirely new discipline,[3] his writings extend far beyond political economy and moral philosophy, for he thought about and contributed fresh insights to such diverse fields as education, history, law, linguistics, logic, politics, religion, rhetoric, taxation, and the arts.[4] Given this multiplicity of intellectual pursuits, how did the flesh-and-blood Adam Smith see himself? Was it not, first and foremost, as a man of letters, a prose poet? For us, Smith’s love of language and les belles lettres is the golden thread that unifies the many-sidedness of Smith’s life and works. Perhaps we are wrong, but in the words of our colleague and friend Paul Sagar (2024): ‘what is the point of any of this if we are not willing to debate things through?'”[5]
Nota bene: Below is an excerpt from the penultimate chapter (Ch. 12) of my forthcoming book with Salim Rashid, Das Adam Smith Problematic? Ethics, Economics and Society. (Footnotes are below the fold. Also, check out this website devoted to “Robert & Andrew Foulis, the Foulis Press, and Their Legacy.”)
In a letter dated 17 September 1759 and addressed to his soon-to-be benefactor and grand-tour patron Charles Townshend (Corr. No. 39), Adam Smith mentions that he “sent about a fortnight ago the books which you ordered for the Duke of Buccleugh [from] Mr. Campbell at Edinburgh.”[1] These books were thus destined for Townshend’s stepson, Henry Scott, the 3rd Duke of Buccleugh, perhaps in preparation for the grand tour he would in a few years’ time be undertaking. (See Chapter 9.) According to Ernest Mossner and Ian Simpson Ross,[2] the books Smith is referring to in this missive were supplied by Robert and Andrew Foulis, printers to the University of Glasgow. In addition, Mossner and Ross tracked down the titles—46 separate tomes in all.[3] And as it happens, this catalogue contains many of great works of ancient Greek and Roman literature, including three different editions of Homer’s Iliad (see items #1, #10, & #16 below), or in the words of Mossner and Ross (1987, p. 57 n.2), “The list is instructive in representing the range of authors thought suitable for educating the young duke, and for reflecting the stock of the Foulis brothers, both as booksellers and printers.”
For reference, then, below is the complete catalogue of all 46 books that Smith had ordered for Duke Henry from the Foulis brothers as reported by Ernest Mossner and Ian Simpson Ross:
We have questions! Who put together this comprehensive list of classical readings? Adam Smith or Charles Townshend? Smith’s letter to Townshend informs us that it was the British politician who ordered the books, but it must have been Smith who recommended the titles in this list, right? Either way, how many of these classics had Smith himself read and studied, and which ones were his favorites? Also, how many of these great works were assigned readings in Smith’s own public and private courses at Glasgow?
prior probability 