prior probability

One of the most famous episodes in the history of modern mathematics occurred on August 8, 1900 at the Sorbonne, when German mathematician David Hilbert presented ten unsolved problems during that year’s International Congress of Mathematics. Following Hilbert’s lead, in this post I will try to draw up a comprehensive list of “unsolved mysteries” in Adam Smith studies. Thus far, I have explored two puzzles from the last phase of the Scottish philosopher’s life: his decision to become a commissioner of customs in 1778 (see here), and his decision to have most of his unpublished papers destroyed upon his death (here). Today, I will identify several other Smithian enigmas from the first 40 or so years of his life:

1. Adam Smith’s religion. Why did Smith renounce his religious vocation, and what, in general, were his views on religion? By way of background, the young Adam Smith was awarded a Snell Exhibition to attend Oxford’s Balliol College, but this scholarship was a religious one: recipients of the Snell award were supposed to become clergymen after completing their studies. Smith, however, never did so. Why not?
2. The marriage question: Unlike Charles Darwin, Karl Marx, or David Ricardo, Adam Smith was a lifelong bachelor. Did the father of economics have any love affairs during his youth (when he was student at Balliol College) or later (during his grand tour days in France), and why and when did he vow (pun intended!) to never marry?
3. The travelling tutor years. Why was the Scottish philosopher willing to renounce his prestigious Glasgow professorship — perhaps as early as 1759 or 1760; see here — in order to become a “mere” travelling tutor? In summary, Adam Smith was overseas from 1764 to 1766, the only time in his life that he had lived or travelled beyond British shores, and during that span of time Smith was the future 3rd Duke of Buccleuch (Duke Henry)’s private tutor. Why?

In addition to these three open questions, Adam Smith’s grand-tour days with Duke Henry raises many other minor mysteries. For the record, I identify a few of these unanswered “grand tour” questions below:

1. Horace Walpole. What was the nature of the relationship between the English homosexual aesthete Horace Walpole and the Scottish philosopher and the future duke? As it happens, Walpole’s first visit to Paris coincided for several weeks with Adam Smith’s last visit to the City of Light, and the names of Smith and his pupil Duke Henry are mentioned almost two dozen times in Walpole’s Paris travel journal. (For more information about this mystery, see my work-in-progress “Adam Smith’s Paris through the Eyes of Horace Walpole”, which is available here.)
2. Paris address. We know that for most of 1766 Adam Smith and his pupil Duke Henry resided at the Hôtel du Parc Royal on the rue du Colombier (now rue Jacob) in the fashionable Saint Germane quarter of Paris (see, for example, section 3 of my work on “Adam Smith in the City of Lights: First Impressions”, available here), but where exactly was this place located and what was it like to live there?
3. Love affair in Abbeville? As I discuss on pages 141-142 of my 2021 “Adam Smith in Love” paper (see here), one source reports of a possible love affair between Adam Smith and a “Madame Nicole” that may have occurred in the French town of Abbeville. (As an aside, Abbeville was a familiar overnight destination on the royal road between Calais and Paris.) Who was this Madame Nicole, and when did this visit occur: in early 1764 (after Smith had first arrived in the port of Calais with Duke Henry), in late 1766 (on Smith and Duke Henry’s return trip to England), or sometime in between?
4. Château de Compiègne. This royal residence was not only the French king’s favorite hunting lodge; it was Adam Smith and Duke Henry’s home away home during the months of August and September of 1766. (“Compiègne” appears on the heading of all of Smith’s letters at this time.) Did they meet Louis XV or give chase to any wild animals while they were there?
5. Post-Grand Tour: Dalkeith House. One year after his return from France, Duke Henry returned to his ancestral home Dalkeith Palace in Scotland. We know that Adam Smith resided there for two months in the fall of 1767 (see, for example, Bonnyman 2014, pp. 59-60), but what exactly was he doing there during those months?

Rest assured, I will address each of these Smithian enigmas in due time …

Enigma #2: Why did Adam Smith instruct his literary executors to destroy most of his unpublished works upon his death?

As I mentioned in my previous post, I am writing up a new series of blog posts devoted to the many mysteries still surrounding the life of Adam Smith, puzzles and paradoxes that remain open to this day. Today’s post is devoted Smithian Enigma #2: why did the Scottish philosopher instruct his literary executors, Joseph Black and James Hutton (pictured below), to destroy his unpublished manuscripts, correspondence, and other private papers? (See, for example, Ian Simpson Ross 2010, pp. 404-405; see also page 149 of my peer-reviewed paper “Adam Smith in Love”, which is available here, by the way.)

In summary, Adam Smith was reportedly working on, in his own words, “an account of the general principles of law and government, and of the different revolutions which they had undergone in the different ages and periods of society; not only in what concerns justice, but in what concerns police, revenue, and arms, and whatever else is the object of law.” But this great work never saw the light of day, for it was presumably destroyed on Smith’s orders by his literary executors. Among the possible reasons or motives the Scottish philosopher may have had are these:

1. Smithian prudence. Most Smith scholars, like Ian Simpson Ross (2010, p. 405), lay the blame on “Smith’s prudence” as the main motivating factor. In other words, maybe Adam Smith, who like Charles Dickens was “shocked by the misuse of private letters of public men”, just wanted to minimize the potential for such misuse.
2. Literary reputation. Simpson Ross (ibid.) also singles out Adam Smith’s “concern for his literary reputation” as another motivating factor. On this view, the Scottish philosopher was simply a punctilious literary perfectionist who would rather have his unfinished works thrown to a bonfire than saved for posterity.
3. Bayesian updating. Perhaps Smith’s grand theory about “the general principles of law and government” had changed over time, or maybe he even renounced his views about these matters. Either way, it might make sense to destroy one’s work if that work no longer reflects one’s true views.
4. A Smithian secret? Above and beyond Smith’s lost manuscript on “the general principles of law and government”, perhaps Smith also had something to hide, a secret so surprising and salacious that it would inflict lasting damage to his reputation as a moral philosopher, a possibility I consider in my 2021 paper “Adam Smith in Love”.

Perhaps the truth is some combination of all these reasons. Also, what other Smithian mysteries remain unsolved? In my next post, I will attempt to provide a comprehensive list of all the “Adam Smith enigmas” that I have encountered in my researches.

Enigma #1: Why did Adam Smith become a Commissioner of Scottish Customs in 1778?

Following up on my recent series on “Walter Bagehot and Adam Smith”, I have decided to write up a new series of blog posts devoted to the many puzzles or paradoxes about the Scottish philosopher’s life and work that remain open to this day, beginning with Smithian Enigma #1: Adam Smith’s surprising decision (surprising to us, at least) to become a Commissioner of Scottish Customs in 1778. To the point, why did a bookworm and scholar like Smith decide to give up his intellectual pursuits (for the most part) in order to become an anti-trade, pro-protectionist bureaucrat for the remainder of his life? A review of the relevant scholarly literature (see, for example, here and here) reveals several possible reasons or motives:

1. Financial security. One possibility, perhaps the simplest and most plausible one, is that Adam Smith, who would reach the ripe old age of 55 in 1778, was enticed by the pecuniary aspect of the position of commissioner — i.e. a position that paid 600£ per annum, or double the amount of Smith’s annual pension from the 3rd Duke of Buccleuch and quadruple his previous salary as a professor of moral philosophy. (See Anderson, Shughart II, & Tollison, 1985, p. 751, who credit Walter Bagehot, 1876, p. 38 with this theory.) On this view, Smith was simply trading off his scholarly pursuits for financial security.
2. Regulatory sabotage. Another possibility is that Smith was a “free trade saboteur”, so to speak — i.e. that Smith became a commissioner in order to infiltrate the inner sanctum of the Customs Office and implement his intellectual agenda by nudging government policy toward free trade. (See again Anderson, Shughart II, & Tollison, 1985, p. 751, who attribute a more watered-down version of this theory to E. G. West, 1976, pp. 126-128.) Alas, not only is there no evidence that Smith engaged in regulatory sabotage; on the contrary, all the available evidence shows that Commissioner Adam Smith prosecuted smugglers to the full extent of the law and energetically enforced protectionist policies during his tenure as commissioner!
3. Pragmatic accommodation. Yet another possibility is that there is no enigma to see here, that Smith was, in fact, a realpolitik pragmatist who did not really believe in or take literally his own free trade/limited government rhetoric. (See once again Anderson, Shughart II, & Tollison, 1985, p. 751, who cite Jacob Viner, 1966, p. 144, pp. 150-151, as well as T. D. Campbell & Ian Simpson Ross, 1981, pp. 87-88, for this proposition. See also Book 5 of Smith’s Wealth of Nations, which can be read as a ringing defense of strong central governments.) Alternatively, a more charitable interpretation is that Smith may not have fully appreciated the ultimate and unavoidable conflict between his free trade and “natural liberty” rhetoric and his defense of limited government when he first wrote his magnum opus.
4. Scholarly fatigue. Last but not least, Gary Anderson, William Shughart II, and Robert Tollison (1985, p. 752) themselves offer their own preferred theory as to why Smith became a bureaucrat: “the most plausible explanation for Smith’s choice of the commission is simply that he was tired of scholarly work.” Later, Anderson, Shughart II, & Tollison add that Smith was not only “tired of economics and scholarship” but that he also “found his work at customs satisfying and interesting” (p. 757). Alas, considering that Smith was a lifelong bookworm who later made substantial revisions to both of his great works while he was still a commissioner (namely, to the 3rd edition of The Wealth of Nations, published in 1783, and to the 6th and last edition The Theory of Moral Sentiments, published in 1790), this last conjecture is improbable at best.

So, which of these four hypotheses is most likely to be true? Perhaps, in some form or another, all of them? And more generally, in the realm of historical conjecture, how does one decide which theory or possibility is most likely to be true? Stay tuned; I will proceed to “Smithian Enigma #2” in my next post …

Mine are onions, tomatoes, and jalapeño peppers, along with cilantro and fresh-squeezed limes, the key ingredients in “pico de gallo” or salsa fresca.

Is the prosecution’s case against Mr Trump plausible or preposterous? See also here and here. Or put another way, is the Manhattan District Attorney upholding or destabilizing the rule of law by going after the former president at this time? And more abstractly, what is “rule of law”? These are just some of the questions the students in my honors section and I will discuss this week.

“He is not here; he has risen!” —Luke 24:6-7

Although Walter Bagehot’s 1876 Adam Smith essay (see here) is succinct by scholarly standards (just 25 pages), it deserves to be included in the pantheon of Adam Smith biographies not just for its content but also for its literary style. I will thus conclude my review of “Adam Smith as a Person” by sharing my three favorite passages from the last few pages of Bagehot’s beautiful and erudite essay, where he refers to the English empiricist Francis Bacon (1561–1626), the Scottish abolitionist Zachary Macaulay (1768–1838), and the 8th century B.C. Greek poet Homer:

1. Bacon: “His mind was full of his great scheme of the origin and history of all cultivation; [but] as happens to so many men, though scarcely ever on so great a scale, aiming at one sort of reputation, he attained another. To use Lord Bacon’s perpetual illustration, like Saul, he ‘went in search of his father’s assess, and he found a kingdom’.” (Bagehot 1876, p. 40; para. 35)
2. Macaulay: “… he never voluntarily wrote of religious subjects, or, as far as we know, spoke of them. Nothing … can repel a man more from such things than what Macaulay called the ‘bray of Exeter Hall’.” (p. 41; para. 37)
3. Homer: “Free trade has become in the popular mind almost as much his [Adam Smith’s] subject as the war of Troy’s was Homer’s ….” (p. 42; para. 39)

Perhaps Bagehot’s greatest homage to Adam Smith appears toward the end of his essay, where he writes: “So much theory and so much practice have rarely, perhaps never, sprang from a single mind.” (p. 42; para. 40)

My previous post describes Adam Smith’s “lost years” as a customs officer, while my next post will wrap up my review of Walter Bagehot’s beautiful and erudite essay “Adam Smith as a Person”; in the meantime, below are links to several scholarly works that further explore Smith’s 12-year stint as a Commissioner of Scottish Customs:

1. A paper titled “Adam Smith in the Customhouse” by Gary M. Anderson, William F. Shugart II, and Robert D. Tollison.

2. A book chapter titled “Commissioner of Customs” by R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner.

3. Another book chapter titled “Economic Theorist as Commissioner of Customs” by Ian Simpson Ross.

Bonus link: A blog post titled “Why Adam Smith Burned His Clothes” by Edwin West.

Alas, except for the blog post, all of these scholarly sources are gated. If I am able to find ungated copies of these materials, I will post them here next week.

(Walter Bagehot and Adam Smith, part 9)

Thus far, I have reviewed the first 20 pages (pp. 18-38 or paragraphs 1-31) of Walter Bagehot’s beautiful essay “Adam Smith as a Person” (available here, by the way). Today, I will review the next three pages (paragraphs 32-34).

The buzz generated by the publication of The Wealth of Nations in 1776 would produce a third major plot twist in the last chapter of Adam Smith’s life, a permanent detour that would mark the formal end of Smith’s scholarly pursuits: his eventual appointment as a Commissioner of Customs in Edinburgh, a bureaucratic but well-remunerated post the Scottish philosopher would hold for the remaining 12 years of his life (February 1778 to July 1790). Doctor Smith was thus a customs officer for almost as many years as he was a professor (1751 to 1763)!

A further irony, as Bagehot himself notes, is that a “person less fitted to fill [this post] could not indeed have easily been found.” (Bagehot 1876, p. 38; para. 32.) Not only was the Scottish philosopher by all accounts an absent-minded scholar, bookworm, and literary light; he was now in charge of enforcing the very same protectionist laws that he had denounced in his magnum opus! But for me the worst part of Smith’s Customs House years in Edinburgh was that his day-to-day duties prevented him from completing his third great book on law and government. Although Smith made substantial revisions and additions to the last edition of Moral Sentiments toward the end of his life, as a full-time customs officer he would no longer enjoy sufficient time to conduct further researches, let alone write any new works.

In the alternative, what if the absence of scholarly productivity during the last phase of Adam Smith’s life were actually a good thing? As it happens, it is none other than Walter Bagehot who presents this surprising and counterfactual conjecture on page 39 (paragraph 33) of his 1876 Adam Smith essay. Although the Scottish philosopher had “made a vast accumulation of miscellaneous materials” since his early scholar days at Oxford (p. 39; para. 33), Bagehot is somehow skeptical of Smith’s ability to assemble and then synthesize so much information into a unified and useful whole. Perhaps Bagehot is right, but it is here where the English essayist and I (amicably) part ways. I prefer a single Adam Smith to a thousand Walter Bagehots!

I will conclude my review of Bagehot’s Adam Smith essay in my next post.