Adam Smith counterfactual

A counterfactual is a statement about what would have happened if a past event had been different. It’s a “what if?” scenario, considering an alternative reality where something that actually occurred did not, or vice versa. On this note, below is an excerpt from Chapter 11 (“Counterfactual Conundrums”) of my forthcoming survey of open Adam Smith problems with Salim Rashid (emphasis added; footnotes are below the fold):


“… the buzz generated by the publication of The Wealth of Nations in 1776 would produce another major plot twist in Adam Smith’s life, an unexpected detour that would mark the close of Smith’s scholarly pursuits: his appointment as a Commissioner of Customs in the royal town of Edinburgh, a post the Scottish philosopher would hold during the remaining 12 years of his life: February 1778 to July 1790. The Scottish philosopher thus ended up spending almost as much time in the customs house (pictured below) than he did at Glasgow University, for he was thus a customs officer for almost as many years as he was a professor!

“But in the words of Walter Bagehot (1876, p. 38), given Smith’s reputation for absent-mindedness (whether real or, as we suspect, feigned) a ‘person less fitted to fill [the post of Customs Commissioner] could not indeed have easily been found.’ Worse yet, the philosopher-economist was now in charge of enforcing the very same protectionist laws that he had denounced in The Wealth of Nations. Although Smith himself never said whether or not his duties as customs officer went against personal convictions,[1] leading some Smith scholars to see no contradiction between Smith’s stirring defense of free trade and his decision to become a customs commissioner,[2] for us the cognitive dissonance is mind-blowing.

“Moreover, Smith’s stint as a customs officer was no sinecure or honorary position; by all accounts, it was a full-time job that would consume a large chunk of his waking hours.[3] Although Smith published four subsequent editions of The Wealth of Nations (1778, 1784, 1786, and 1789) and made substantial revisions and additions to the sixth and last edition of The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1790) after his appointment as Commissioner of Customs, his day-to-day duties in the customs house would prevent him from completing any other major scholarly books or articles, including the ‘two other great works on the anvil’ that we mentioned in a previous chapter (Ch. 4).

For us, then, this closing chapter in Smith’s life presents one major counterfactual question, what we call Das Kommissarproblem. What if Smith had never accepted this position? How would Smith have spent the final 12 years of his life? Would he have returned to academia? Would he have completed either of the ‘two other great works’ he was supposedly working on? Or would he have been content with the two magna opera he had already published? And these aren’t the only customs-house questions we have, for we have always wondered why Adam Smith, a self-confessed bookworm who had become a major literary figure, agreed to accept the position of Commissioner of Customs in the first place. Simply put, why did he give up his ongoing intellectual pursuits (for the most part) to become a glorified bureaucrat for the remainder of his life?[4] Why not say ‘no’? Was it money, prestige, intellectual fatigue, or something else that motivated Smith to say ‘yes’?

“Also, Smith published four subsequent editions of The Wealth of Nations after his appointment as Commissioner of Customs (1778, 1784, 1786, and 1789) as well as a sixth and last edition of The Theory of Moral Sentiments in 1790. How did his stint in the customs house influence any of these subsequent editions of his Wealth of Nations or Theory of Moral Sentiments? And lastly, and perhaps most importantly, how did Smith resolve the cognitive dissonance between his duty as a customs officer to enforce the oppressive system of existing trade barriers on the one hand and his stirring defense of free trade and ‘natural liberty’ in his Wealth of Nations on the other?”

Setting the Scene – Parliament Square, Edinburgh
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Monday imaginary map: the United States of North America

What if Canada, Mexico, and the U.S. were one country? It would be the world’s largest by land area, creating a powerful economic and military bloc with a combined population of nearly 500 million people!

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Sunday song: My wish

I will resume my series on “Adam Smith Problems” after the Labour Day holiday; in the meantime, here is some music that was first released in August of 2006 (more details here).

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Sex and the City of Light: Das Liebesproblem

Two literary artifacts, both dating from the last two months of Adam Smith’s Grand Tour (September-October, 1766), merit a closer look. One is a private letter penned by Madame Marie-Jeanne Riccoboni sometime during the month of October, 1766. The other is a letter dated 18 September 1766, most likely authored by a Scottish transplant in France, Seignelay Colbert de Castle-Hill. Both pieces of primary evidence pose an open problem of an amorous nature. These letters report that Adam Smith was not lacking in female admirers during his sojourn overseas, but who were these ladies, and what was the nature of these foreign contacts? Companionate? Platonic? Sexual? Or something else? Below is an excerpt from Chapter 10 (“Das Liebesproblem”) of my forthcoming survey of open Adam Smith problems with Salim Rashid (footnotes are below the fold):


“Could the ‘Madame Nicol’ mentioned as a love interest in Abbé Colbert’s 18 September 1766 letter to Adam Smith have been an actress? On this possibility, it is worth mentioning that by all accounts Madame Riccoboni—an accomplished actress and novelist—and Adam Smith—an admirer of the stage—were avid theater and opera fans during Smith’s stay in the City of Light.[1] Indeed, ‘it is very likely Smith took recommendations from Riccoboni as to which theatrical performances to attend’,[2] and so it is not far-fetched to imagine to them attending a play or opera or concert together.

“What many Smith scholars, however, have failed to mention is that these theatrical venues were the center of an elite Parisian sexual marketplace, the famed dames entretenues or kept women of French high society.[3] Famous for their talent, glamour, and beauty, these femmes galantes were the most highly-sought after women of pleasure in all Europe, models and actresses who ‘earned their living by engaging in long-term sexual and often companionate relationships with men from the financial, political, and social elites, known as le monde (high society).’[4]

“Although not all theater women were kept mistresses or femmes galantes, this sultry scene overlapped directly with the world of the theater: ‘It was widely understood that any woman in the Opéra, and to a lesser degree the other theater companies, was a dame entretenue, or at least wanted to be.’[5] The world of theater was the center of this high-end sex market because ‘being on the stage greatly increased … “sexual capital”, the desirability of a mistress and hence the prices she could command for her services’,[6] and the theater district of the French capital was teeming with high-end brothels and places of ill-repute.[7] Although we have no other evidence to indicate whether Smith himself partook in a theatrical liaison, so to speak, who knows?”

Adam Smith quote: Man naturally desires, not only to be loved, but to...
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Adam Smith and *Das Voltaire-Problem*

Correction (8/30): Our colleague and friend Alain Alcouffe has pointed out to us a possible error about the identity of “Dr Smith” in the Voltaire passage quoted below. In brief, the Dr Smith Voltaire is referring may not be Adam Smith at all. Instead, the author of Candide could be referring to a Robert Smith, the author of a 1738 treatise on optics (available here). We will do some additional digging and report back soon.


Below is an excerpt from Chapter 9 (“Das Voltaire-Problem”) of my forthcoming survey of open Adam Smith problems with Salim Rashid (footnotes are below the fold):


“Among the most illustrious Enlightenment figures Adam Smith met and perhaps befriended during his grand tour years was Voltaire, and according to one account (Muller 1993, p. 15), Smith made a good impression on the famed Lumière. After meeting Smith, Voltaire wrote, ‘This Smith is an excellent man! We have nothing to compare him, and I am embarrassed for my dear compatriots.’[1] But what did Smith think of the great Voltaire?

“No doubt, Smith must have admired the celebrated Lumière even before their encounters in 1765, for Voltaire is mentioned many times in Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments.[2] But why did Smith go out of his way to meet him in 1765, and what did they discuss? Though all accounts of Adam Smith’s time in the city-state of Geneva—i.e. when his meetings with Voltaire took place—are extremely sparse, we know that the Scottish moral philosopher left Toulouse and travelled to Geneva in the fall of 1765,[3] and we also know that during his time in the little republic he became personally acquainted with Voltaire, who at the time lived in nearby Ferney.[4] [N.B.: Voltaire’s estate at Ferney is pictured below.] But aside from the opportunity of arranging one or more meetings with Voltaire, why did Smith decide to visit Geneva at all instead of heading straight to Paris, where he would reside for the remainder of his grand tour? What did he hope to accomplish or observe there, and how long did he stay? Was Voltaire the primary purpose of Smith’s jaunt to Geneva?

“According to one hearsay account (Rae 1965/1895, p. 189), reporting what Adam Smith had told the English poet Samuel Rogers years later, in 1789, the Scottish philosopher had visited the famed lumière no less than five or six times during this period. Another hearsay account confirms Smith’s admiration—not just for Voltaire, but also for Rousseau![5] Did Smith and Voltaire talk about Rousseau? Samuel Rogers, Rae tells us, mentions two possible topics of conversation. One was ‘the Duke of Richelieu, the only famous Frenchman Smith had yet met,’[6] while the other was ‘the political question as to the revival of the provincial assemblies or the continuance of government by royal intendants.’[7]

“But this can’t be the whole story. Aside from the legendary martial exploits and sexual conquests of Louis François Armand de Vignerot du Plessis, 3rd duc de Richelieu (1696-1788), or the contemporaneous Brittany Affair (an ongoing power struggle between the chief magistrate or procureur of the local courts of Brittany, Louis-René de Caradeuc de La Chalotais (1701-1785), and the governor and royal representative of the region, Emmanuel Armand de Vignerot du Plessis, duc d’Aiguillon (1720-1780)), two additional and more immediate topics may have occupied Voltaire and Adam Smith at this time. One was the Voltaire-Needham controversy that was then playing out in real time in the fall of 1765. The other was what we call the ‘fracas at Ferney’: the Voltaire-Charles Dillon affair of December 1765. Both the Voltaire-Needham controversy and the fracas at Ferney are relevant to our Smithian inquiries because both occurred amid Smith’s visit to Geneva….”

Voltaire''s house in Ferney, west side; - (after) Louis Signy as art print  or hand painted oil.
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The last days of Adam Smith in Paris

Adam Smith’s last days in Paris were marked by a terrible tragedy: the death of one of the pupils under his care, Hew Campbell Scott (pictured below), who was only 19 years old at the time. Below is an excerpt from Chapter 8 (“Grand Tour Questions”) of my forthcoming survey of open Adam Smith problems with Salim Rashid (footnotes are below the fold):


“What was the fatal ‘fever’ that Adam Smith’s pupil Hew Campbell Scott contracted in Paris in the fall of 1766, and how did he contract this disease? Initially, John Rae (1965/1895, p. 226) had reported that Hew had been murdered on the streets of Paris: ‘[Smith’s] younger pupil, the Hon. Hew Campbell Scott, was assassinated in the streets of Paris, on the 18th of October 1766, in his nineteenth year.’[1] But two pieces of personal correspondence, both of which are written in Smith’s hand only four days apart (15 & 19 October 1766; Corr. Nos. 97 & 98), were subsequently discovered. In summary, the first of these letters reports that Hew had contracted a fever; the second letter tells us that Hew’s fever was a fatal one. Interestingly, both of Smith’s missives are addressed to Lady Frances, the sister of Hew and Duke Henry.[2] Also, of all of Smith’s extant letters postmarked in France, his 15 October letter to Lady Frances is the longest: a total of 894 words. (The second-longest piece of correspondence Smith wrote during his travels in France, a letter addressed to Charles Townshend, contains 626 words. See Corr. No. 95.)

“By his own account, Smith wrote his 15 October letter late at night—11 o’clock P.M.—and it contains many gruesome details of Hew’s illness. Among other things, Smith reports on Hew’s many ‘vomitings’, ‘purgings [that] continued with great violence’, and ‘delirium’, and he also describes how Hew had ‘bled very copiously at the nose’ (Corr. No. 97). By comparison, Smith’s next letter to Lady Frances, dated 19 October 1766 (Corr. No. 98), is laconic and to the point:

It is my misfortune to be under the necessity of acquainting you of the most terrible calamity that has befallen us. Mr Scott dyed this Evening at seven o’clock. I had gone to the Duke of Richmonds in order to acquaint the Duke of Buccleugh that all hope was over and that his Brother could not outlive tomorrow morning: I returned in less than half an hour to do the last duty to my best friend. He had expired about five minutes before I could get back and I had not the satisfaction of closing his eyes with my own hands. I have no force to continue this letter; The Duke, tho’ in very great affliction, is otherwise in perfect health. I ever am etc. etc. (Corr. No. 98)

“Alas, although Hew had received the best medical care he could have possibly received in the Enlightened Paris of his day and age, his illness was a fatal one. For his part, Smith had consulted with three eminent doctors in all—François Quesnay, who had previously attended to Hew’s older brother, Duke Henry; Richard Gem, the doctor assigned to the British embassy in Paris (see Armbruster 2019, p. 131); and Théodore Tronchin (see Corr. No. 97)—but according to E. H. Campbell and Andrew S. Skinner (1982, p. 135), ‘The doctors had little idea of what was wrong or what to do.’ Furthermore, according to Ian Simpson Ross (2010, p. 231), it was Hew’s untimely demise that cut short Smith’s travels in Europe: ‘In all likelihood Smith would have stayed in France until 1767, the year of the majority of the Duke of Buccleuch’ had it not been for ‘a dramatic change of plans occasioned by the fatal illness of the Hon. Campbell Scott in October 1766.’[3] But upon Hew’s untimely demise, Smith’s grand tour would come to an abrupt end.

“This final chapter of Smith’s grand tour travels thus poses many unanswered questions. Why, for example, did Smith address his letters announcing Hew’s illness and death to Hew’s young sister, Lady Frances, and not to his mother, Lady Dalkeith, or stepfather, Lord Townshend? Also, in his correspondence with Lady Frances, Smith had initially described Hew’s condition as a “fever”, but what was the true cause of his death?”

Portrait of the Hon. Campbell Scott (oil on canvas)
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Some open questions about Adam Smith’s Glasgow period

The celebrated Scottish moral economist Adam Smith was a professor at the University of Glasgow (then known as the College of Glasgow, pictured below) from 1751 until early January 1764, when he abruptly left the college in the middle of the 1763-64 academic year to accompany the young 3rd Duke of Buccleuch on his grand tour. Below are some excerpts from Chapter 7 (“Glasgow Enigmas”) of my forthcoming survey of open Adam Smith problems with Salim Rashid (footnotes are below the fold):


Das Freihandelsproblem (the free trade problem). The Act of Union in 1707 not only united Scotland and England into Great Britain; it also lifted oppressive trade restrictions and opened new markets and trading opportunities for Scottish merchants. Glasgow experienced a significant period of prosperity due to its thriving trade with the North American colonies and became a bustling port city, surpassing other British ports like London and Bristol.[1] This prosperity led to the rise of powerful merchants, collectively known as the Tobacco Lords.[2] By 1770, on the eve of the American Revolution, Glasgow was the primary entrepot for Virginian tobacco, much of which was then re-exported to Europe. But did Smith become a free trader during his Glasgow period? Did he ever lecture on the doctrine of free trade, either at the University of Glasgow (1751-1764) or at one of the several private clubs that he was a member of, such as the storied Anderston Club of Glasgow or the Select Society of Edinburgh?[3] Or did Smith first embrace free trade during his extended visit to France (1764-66) or during the time he spent writing and revising The Wealth of Nations (1767-1776)?[4] 

Das Shelburne-Problem. In addition to his regular teaching and administrative duties at the University of Glasgow, why did Adam Smith also agree to take into his home and personally tutor Thomas Fitzmaurice from 1759 to 1761? During this time, Smith corresponded with Fitzmaurice’s older brother, Lord Shelburne, over a dozen times.[5] Considering that Smith was a rather stingy correspondent (he wrote less than 200 of his letters during his entire lifetime!), his correspondence with Lord Shelburne and the responsibility of tutoring his son must have consumed a lot of Smith’s time. Why on Earth did Smith accept this responsibility? Was it to ingratiate himself with Fitzmaurice’s father: John Petty Fitzmaurice, 1st Earl of Shelburne? Was it on account of Lord Shelburne’s wealth and position as a member of the British aristocracy? Did he owe him a favor, perhaps? Also, how many other students, if any, did Smith tutor or take at his home during his Glasgow period, and how much time and effort did this take?

Das Snell-Problem. According to John Rae (1965/1895, pp. 152-153), in June of 1761 the faculty senate of Glasgow University authorized Adam Smith to conduct some business in London on behalf of the university regarding a pending lawsuit involving the Snell Exhibition. In addition, Rae mentions that “on the 15th of October [1761], after his return [from London], he [Smith] reported what he had done [to the faculty senate], and produced a certificate, signed by the Secretary to the Treasury.”[6] Where is that certificate? How long did Smith stay in London, and what other business, if any, did he conduct during this trip? In addition, what was the outcome of this new round of litigation, and why didn’t the previous round of litigation bring the perennial legal controversies surrounding the Snell Exhibition to an end? (In legal speak, why wasn’t the court’s previous decision from the 1740s res judicata?) Are there any additional extant documents (correspondence, receipts, etc.) from Smith’s 1761 trip to London?

Das Hochschulabschluss Problem: Why was Smith awarded an LL.D. degree in October 1762? The University of Glasgow decided to confer on Adam Smith the degree of Doctor of Laws (LL.D.) in October of 1762.[7] Why? In the minutes of the meeting in which the award of Smith’s degree was formally approved, it is reported that Smith’s degree was awarded in recognition of his “universally acknowledged reputation in letters” as well as his success in teaching jurisprudence at the university for many years with “great applause and advantages to the Society.”[8] But given that Smith had already been teaching for over ten years and given that The Theory of Moral Sentiments had been published in 1759, why was the degree not awarded earlier? Also, regardless of the timing of this decision, whose idea was it that Smith should be awarded a degree? Was it Smith himself who asked to be awarded a degree? Or was it the University of Glasgow’s regular policy to award honorary degrees to its own faculty members after, say, 10 years of service or after the publication of an important work?

571 years since The University of Glasgow was founded : r/glasgow
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The Lost Year

Below is an excerpt from Chapter 6 (“Adam Smith’s Lost Year: 1747”) of my forthcoming survey of open Adam Smith problems with Salim Rashid (footnotes are below the fold):


“There is a small but significant gap in Adam Smith’s biography: the lost year of 1747, the year of Smith’s 24th birthday. We know that Smith left Oxford ‘for good’ in August of 1746,[1] and we also know that he eventually ‘fixed his residence at Edinburgh’,[2] where he began to deliver a series of ‘freelance lectures on English composition and literary criticism’ somewhere in Edinburgh beginning in 1748,[3] but what was the college dropout doing during the span of time between his departure from Oxford and his move to Edinburgh, i.e. late 1746 to 1748? Alas, no one knows for sure.

“E. G. West (1969, p. 44) claims that Adam Smith spent this lost year writing some of the essays that would later be published posthumously in Smith’s Essays on Philosophical Subjects: West, without a shred of evidence, writes: ‘Much of these two years [i.e. 1746 to 1748] he spent writing. It is probable that in this period he wrote some of the belles-lettres and the essays on astronomy, ancient physics, logic and metaphysics.’[4] Smith’s other biographers, however, are of no help.

“To begin with, all we are told in Dugald Stewart’s Account of the Life and Writings of Adam Smith (1980/1811, p. 272; EPS, I.11) is that, ‘[a]fter a residence at Oxford of seven years’ (i.e. July 1740 to August 1746), the young Smith ‘returned to Kirkcaldy, and lived two years with his mother; engaged in study, but without any fixed plan for his future life’ and that ‘he resolved to return to his own country, and to limit his ambition to the uncertain prospect of obtaining, in time, some one of those moderate preferments, to which literary attainments lead in Scotland.’

“For his part, John Rae adds one extra detail to Stewart’s account. Rae (1965/1895, p. 110, our emphasis) reports that ‘Smith returned to Scotland in August 1746, but his name remained on the Oxford books for some months after his departure, showing apparently that he had not on leaving come to a final determination against going back.’ So, was the young Smith planning on possibly returning to his formal studies at Balliol College at some point? If he was, he must have changed his mind, for according to Rae, ‘Smith concluded that the best prospect for him was after all the road back to Scotland. And he never appears to have set foot in Oxford again.’[5]

“Alas, neither Nicholas Phillipson (2010) nor Ian Simpson Ross (2010) have anything to say about this chapter of Smith’s life. Both biographers skip the year 1747 altogether. The only thing Ross (2010, p. 74) has to say is that Smith ‘went back to Kirkcaldy’ in 1746 and then ‘went off to do the work that led to his world fame as a man of letters.’[6]   Nicholas Phillipson (2010, p. 72), moreover, is even more terse. He simply tells us that ‘Smith left Oxford in late August 1746 and returned to Scotland’ before changing the subject to the Jacobite rebellion of 1745-46 and proceeding to describe Henry Home’s ‘instrumental [role] in launching Smith’s career in 1748 by means of an invitation to deliver two series of lectures in the capital [Edinburgh], on rhetoric and on jurisprudence.’[7]  

“In short, to quote our colleague and friend Glory Liu (2022, p. xvii): ‘Smith left Oxford for Scotland in 1746. We know next to nothing of what happened between then and 1748 ….’ Most of Smith’s biographers simply leapfrog from Smith’s decision to ditch Oxford in August of 1746 directly into Smith’s fateful move to Edinburgh in 1748. But what happened in 1747? How did an Oxford dropout with no prospects become a leading light of the Scottish Enlightenment, the man who would change the world by bringing down mercantilism and championing free trade?”

File:Map of the Royal Burgh of Kirkcaldy 1824.jpg
Map of the Royal Burgh of Kirkcaldy 1824 (Wikimedia Commons)
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Paris Liberation Day

Today (25 August) is the 81st anniversary of the liberation of Paris from German occupation (see here and here) as well as my first day back in the classroom after the summer break and my 57th birthday!

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Sunday song: My boo

I will resume my survey of “Adam Smith problems” in the next day or two; in the meantime, check out the hit song “My boo” by Ghostown DJs from the 1990s:

Footnote: for me, “My boo” is the Tom Brady of music: just as the future hall of fame quarterback was selected as the 199th overall pick in the 6th round of the 2000 NFL draft, according to Wikipedia, this all-time classic peaked at number 31 on the Billboard “Hot 100” on its initial release in 1996. 

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