Adam Smith in Acadia: The Virtue of Self-Command
Smith taught us we can’t see our own dysfunctions clearly; we must depend on interactions with others and life to teach us.
Be a responsible grown-up who does useful things, who serves real people in the real world.—Cal Newport
The love and respect of your neighbors must be gained by a long series of small services, hidden deeds of goodness, a persistent habit of kindness, and an established reputation of selflessness.—Alexis de Tocqueville
In the United States, as soon as several inhabitants have taken an opinion or an idea they wish to promote in society, they seek each other out and unite together once they have made contact. From that moment, they are no longer isolated but have become a power seen from afar whose activities serve as an example and whose words are heeded.—Alexis de Tocqueville
Man was made for action, and to promote by the exertion of his faculties such changes in the external circumstances both of himself and others, as may seem most favourable to the happiness of all. He must not be satisfied with indolent benevolence, nor fancy himself the friend of mankind, because in his heart he wishes well to the prosperity of the world.—Adam Smith
We have been examining Adam Smith's role as a moral philosopher and finding relevance of his Theory of Moral Sentiments to living a good life, even in everyday interactions.
Imagine living in one of the most beautiful spots on the planet, yet being unable to experience it. In Acadia National Park, there is an organization called the Mount Desert Island Wheelers whose volunteers pedal specially designed bicycles to bring the elderly and infirm on rides in the park’s remarkable carriage roads. Walkers, hikers, and bicyclists enjoy the “forty-five miles of rustic carriage roads, the gift of philanthropist John D. Rockefeller Jr. and family, that weave around the mountains and valleys of Acadia.”
During a recent vacation in the park, my wife and I came upon the Wheelers guiding a 91-year-old woman, Gloria, onto one of their bikes. “It’s like skydiving,” the volunteer joked with her. Gloria joked back in a firm voice that hid her age.
This is the scene Gloria viewed at the starting point of her ride.
We celebrate volunteerism as a pathway by which the lives of others are improved. Yet, often underappreciated are the vital commercial activities that "serve real people in the real world."
During our week in Acadia, a dental emergency arose, but our dentist was five hours away. She told me to enjoy our vacation and assured me she would take care of it upon our return, which she did. A dentist with less skill and experience might have insisted that time was of the essence, necessitating a disruption in our vacation. The quality of life depends upon interactions such as this.
Upon our return home, we stopped at our local supermarket and found they had begun to stock two additional brands of genuine, organic, pasture-raised eggs. I write genuine because there are many dubious claims about pasture-raised eggs. (Here is one source of information on eggs.)
The producers of those eggs and the buyers for the supermarket chain continually reassess consumer demand for their products. They don’t know us as individuals, but they serve us just as much as the volunteers who served Gloria.
When our minds are fixated on political means to satisfy our needs, we fail to notice those who ceaselessly serve us in the marketplace.
Self-command is not only itself a great virtue, but from it all the other virtues seem to derive their principal lustre.—Adam Smith
Upon many occasions, to act with the most perfect propriety, requires no more than that common and ordinary degree of sensibility or self-command which the most worthless of mankind are possessed of.—Adam Smith
He has the disposition which fits him for acquiring the most perfect self-command, but he has never had the opportunity of acquiring it. Exercise and practice have been wanting; and without these no habit can ever be tolerably established.—Adam Smith
Acadia has a multi-route system of propane-powered buses, sponsored by L.L. Bean, free to all park visitors. The bus system makes an almost endless variety of traverse hikes possible. You start at one bus stop, get dropped off at a trailhead, climb one or more peaks, hike across a ridge, and end up at another trailhead for another bus to transport you back.
During our traverse hike, we encountered two bus drivers who demonstrated very different approaches to their work and different levels of self-command.
The first driver enjoyed playing the role of a tour guide. He offered brief, informative commentary at some of the stops. He cheerfully waited for a passenger who asked to visit the bathroom at one of the stops. He was enjoying his work while still keeping to the posted schedule. He made his work meaningful through job crafting.
In their Harvard Business Review essay “What Job Crafting Looks Like,” professors Jane E. Dutton and Amy Wrzesniewski explore how people can and do make meaning at work. A large part of job crafting involves cognitive changes — not just pretending to like your work when you don’t — but making meaning, as exemplified by the first bus driver.
A cleaner at a hospital “saw her work as much more than her cleaning responsibilities. Instead, she cognitively reframed her work as a form of healing, playing a key role ‘in the house of hope.’” She made meaning as “she paid additional attention to the tasks that might help people recover and leave the hospital more quickly.”
By activating their capacity for self-command, the meaning-making bus driver and other ordinary Americans like him are at the front lines of defending freedom. Fully occupied in the service of others, they are not drawn to the siren call of authoritarians telling them they are victims. Self-command and purposeful action are within the reach of every one of us. No wonder many politicians work full-time to incentivize people to depend on the government.
That same day, there was a lesson to learn from the second bus driver. He did not engage passengers or make eye contact with them. He drove aggressively, almost up to the bumper of the vehicles in front of him. He seemed distracted; perhaps he was focused on the mental noise in his head. He was in a beautiful place with none of the problems an urban bus driver might face—dysfunctional passengers and real traffic—yet he could not escape his prison.
Adam Smith taught us we can’t see our own dysfunctions clearly; we must depend on interactions with others and life to teach us. The driver's mental noise created a barrier to interactions with others. His internal impartial spectator was off duty; he was unable to see his own dysfunctions clearly.
Were it possible that a human creature could grow up to manhood in some solitary place, without any communication with his own species, he could no more think of his own character, of the propriety or demerit of his own sentiments and conduct, of the beauty or deformity of his own mind, than of the beauty or deformity of his own face. All these are objects which he cannot easily see, which naturally he does not look at, and with regard to which he is provided with no mirror which can present them to his view. –Adam Smith
That day the second bus driver was not a happy learner; admittedly, some days I am not a happy learner either.
My daily road walk gains approximately 450 feet in elevation over a 2.5-mile loop. Due to its elevation gain, I’m grateful for what I call my walking home gym.
The mostly rugged New Hampshire and Maine trails are considerably longer. As I age, I pay more careful attention to footing, especially on descents. When I lose self-command and my thinking gets noisy, I’m annoyed at my slower speed.
I experienced the contrast between annoyance and gratitude on this recent vacation. When my wife and I arrive in Acadia National Park after hours of driving, we like to take a short hike. A few years ago, that hike was up Flying Mountain. The very modest stats suggested a quick jaunt.
As an experienced hiker, I should have known better. The hike was not quick; my expectations were not met. My thoughts got noisy; I was agitated, feeling I needed to finish the hike to attend to other things. The more reality didn’t bow to my thinking, the more I resisted the experience and the less I enjoyed it. My self-command quotient that day was very low.
On this recent vacation, we were back on the Flying Mountain loop trail. I did not resist reality, and the hike was pure enjoyment. Without the self-referential personal thinking, I stayed in the moment, and peace was present.
Adam Smith knew we don’t often find peace directly. When he wrote about self-command, he was preparing us for the serious challenges of life. By recognizing when we lack self-command during life’s everyday events, we prepare for those challenges. A good student embraces opportunities to practice self-command and, with that, grows in character and virtue.
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Needed this.