Today, as we think about the developing catastrophe in Japan, we will consider the problem of distant suffering and the limits of human empathy with the help of Gary Alan Fine. We start in this post with Adam Smith’s reflections from his The Theory of Moral Sentiments, followed by Fine’s commentary on this classic passage. Later today, Fine will explore the odd, very human, relationship between horror, humor and the human condition. -Jeff

“Let us suppose that the great empire of China, with all its myriads of inhabitants, was suddenly swallowed up by an earthquake, and let us consider how a man of humanity in Europe, who had no sort of connexion with that part of the world, would be affected upon receiving intelligence of this dreadful calamity. He would, I imagine, first of all, express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that unhappy people, he would make many melancholy reflections upon the precariousness of human life, and the vanity of all the labours of man, which could thus be annihilated in a moment. He would too, perhaps, if he was a man of speculation, enter into many reasonings concerning the effects which this disaster might produce upon the commerce of Europe, and the trade and business of the world in general. And when all this fine philosophy was over, when all these humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed, he would pursue his business or his pleasure, take his repose or his diversion, with the same ease and tranquillity, as if no such accident had happened. The most frivolous disaster which could befal himself would occasion a more real disturbance. If he was to lose his little finger to-morrow, he would not sleep to-night; but, provided he never saw them, he will snore with the most profound security over the ruin of a hundred millions of his brethren, and the destruction of that immense multitude seems plainly an object less interesting to him, than this paltry misfortune of his own. To prevent, therefore, this paltry misfortune to himself, would a man of humanity be willing to sacrifice the lives of a hundred millions of his brethren, provided he had never seen them? Human nature startles with horror at the thought, and the world, in its greatest depravity and corruption, never produced such a villain as could be capable of entertaining it. But what makes this difference? When our passive feelings are almost always so sordid and so selfish, how comes it that our active principles should often be so generous and so noble? When we are always so much more deeply affected by whatever concerns ourselves, than by whatever concerns other men; what is it which prompts the generous, upon all occasions, and the mean upon many, to sacrifice their own interests to the greater interests of others? It is not the soft power of humanity, it is not that feeble spark of benevolence which Nature has lighted up in the human heart, that is thus capable of counteracting the strongest impulses of self-love. It is a stronger power, a more forcible motive, which exerts itself upon such occasions. It is reason, principle, conscience, the inhabitant of the breast, the man within, the great judge and arbiter of our conduct. It is he who, whenever we are about to act so as to affect the happiness of others, calls to us, with a voice capable of astonishing the most presumptuous of our passions, that we are but one of the multitude, in no respect better than any other in it; and that when we prefer ourselves so shamefully and so blindly to others, we become the proper objects of resentment, abhorrence, and execration. It is from him only that we learn the real littleness of ourselves, and of whatever relates to ourselves, and the natural misrepresentations of self-love can be corrected only by the eye of this impartial spectator. It is he who shows us the propriety of generosity and the deformity of injustice; the propriety of resigning the greatest interests of our own, for the yet greater interests of others, and the deformity of doing the smallest injury to another, in order to obtain the greatest benefit to ourselves. It is not the love of our neighbour, it is not the love of mankind, which upon many occasions prompts us to the practice of those divine virtues. It is a stronger love, a more powerful affection, which generally takes place upon such occasions; the love of what is honourable and noble, of the grandeur, and dignity, and superiority of our own characters.The world has a multitude of distant shores. As we are creatures of the local, we strain to feel compassion for those we know only in imagination. Yet we realize that at times of trouble those far others impinge unwelcome on our thoughtless selves.” 

In moments of disaster I return to the wise counsel of the Scottish moral philosopher Adam Smith. Not for Wealth of Nations, but for his earlier The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759).

Smith understood the problem of distant suffering. It has been too common to quote the first half of the paragraph, presented above, in which Smith seems callously dyspeptic in considering the aftermath of a great earthquake in the East. He writes that “If [a European] were to lose his little finger to-morrow, he would not sleep to-night, but, provided he never saw them, he will snore with the most profound security over the ruin of a hundred millions of his brethren.” Ouch. He might tell jokes or make slighting remarks, mocking the suffering.

But this realization is not for Smith a moral desideratum. He, rather, recognizes how our passive feelings revel in what does not affect us. This passage presents the predicate for the remainder of the paragraph. Smith is not coldly cynical – Ayn Rand in a kilt – but he knows that our emotions do not define us to the exclusion of our ethical reflection. “It is reason, principle, conscience, the inhabitant of the breast, the man within, the great judge and arbiter of our conduct.” This is mind filtered through morality. The inhabitant in the breast provides the wisdom that the imp in the heart can not trump. Or so is Smith’s hope. Our emotions may discount distant suffering and make otherness a justification for inaction, but it is the recognition of the honorable and the noble that makes us worthy. Smith wisely recognized that our presumptuous passions can be bettered by active engagement. Smith, I choose to believe, would not be cross with our cynical distancing and would not believe that it will be overwhelmed with the soft power of humanity alone, but rather our good works and best deeds occur when our world – near and far – is deliberately considered.