The Wealth of Nations stands as an enduring pillar of English literature—though let’s be honest, it’s not exactly the book club favorite most would choose for a cozy night in.
When this monumental work was unleashed upon the world in 1776, its publisher, Thomas Strahan, candidly remarked that its sales had exceeded his expectations, considering it was a tome that demanded “much thought and reflection—a quality not typically in abundance among modern readers.” David Hume, no less, expressed skepticism about the book’s popularity due to its intricate nature, noting that the public had a tendency to “give so little” attention. Yet he acknowledged its intellectual depth, asserting that it was “illustrated by curious facts” and would ultimately attract public interest.
Even among the political elite, Smith enjoyed only a lukewarm reception. A scholarly analysis, dubbed the “only rigorous and comprehensive take” published during Smith’s lifetime and penned by the Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, served primarily as a defense of the economic status quo. By the end of the eighteen century, while the intellectual circles had certainly heard of The Wealth of Nations, they hadn’t fully embraced Smith’s revolutionary ideas.
John Rae, Smith’s biographer, recounts a moment when Charles James Fox admitted to not having read the book, despite having quoted it in the House of Commons. On another occasion, when an economist suggested that Smith was the originator of political economy, Fox dismissed him, exclaiming, “Pooh, your Adam Smiths are nothing.”
It wasn’t until Pitt’s budget in 1792 that Smith’s ideas gained significant traction in British politics. The nineteenth century saw a more Smithian approach, particularly under Gladstone’s leadership. However, in 1906, when newly elected Labour MPs were asked to name the books that most influenced them, only four mentioned Smith. Despite numerous reprints and translations, a widespread readership remained elusive. Jonathan Rose did find evidence of working-class individuals engaging with Smith during the nineteenth century, but he wasn’t a prominent figure in The Intellectual Life of the British Working Class.
Smith has consistently attracted the attention of writers and intellectuals. Amartya Sen, in his introduction to The Theory of Moral Sentiments, cites Smith telling students that “to be an ancient” is to have commentators. By that measure, Sen argues, “few are more ancient than Smith.” He occupies a place in modernity akin to Plato’s status in antiquity. However, unlike the immediate and lasting debates sparked by Charles Darwin’s works, Smith’s reception has been more subdued, even if his significance is undeniable.
And yet—his writing is surprisingly accessible. Among the great thinkers tackling complex subjects, Smith arguably stands out as England’s finest prose stylist. Edward Gibbon remarked that The Wealth of Nations is “An extensive science in a single book, and the most profound ideas expressed in the most perspicuous language.” Smith, a fan of the term “perspicacious,” championed clarity throughout his Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres. His dedication to the English plain style is evident in notes taken by his students during his lectures, which emphasize:
“A natural order of expression, free of parentheses and superfluous words, is likewise a great help towards perspicuity.”
And:
“Our words must be put in such order that the meaning of the sentence shall be quite plain and not depend on the accuracy of the printer in placing the points, or of readers in laying the emphasis on any certain word.”
This commitment to clarity makes reading Smith a genuine pleasure. His principles—eliminating unnecessary words, adhering to a “natural order of expression,” and employing linear sentence structure—achieve a level of lucidity rarely found in such extensive works. Engaging with Smith doesn’t feel like unravelling a convoluted puzzle; instead, you arrive at clear conclusions as you progress. For anyone keen on understanding the mechanisms of the world, Smith remains an essential read, offering the thoughtful engagement that many long for in dense texts.
While The Wealth of Nations demands attention, it isn’t a foe to comprehension, unlike many other heavyweight treatises. Smith meticulously crafts his prose, ensuring that each of its thousand pages is as straightforward and digestible as possible. Consider these excerpts:
“It would be too ridiculous to go about seriously to prove, that wealth does not consist in money, or in gold and silver; but in what money purchases, and is valuable only for purchasing. Money, no doubt, makes always a part of the national capital; but it has already been shown that it generally makes but a small part, and always the most unprofitable part of it.” (WN IV.i.17)
“It is not the multitude of alehouses, to give the most suspicious example, that occasions a general disposition to drunkenness among the common people; but that disposition, arising from other causes, necessarily gives employment to a multitude of alehouses.” (WN II.v.7)
“The pride of man makes him love to domineer, and nothing mortifies him so much as to be obliged to condescend to persuade his inferiors. Wherever the law allows it, and the nature of the work can afford it, therefore, he will generally prefer the service of slaves to that of freemen. The planting of sugar and tobacco can afford the expense of slave cultivation. The raising of corn, it seems, in the present times, cannot.” (WN III.ii.10)
These selections are merely a few gems from my own well-thumbed copy.
Notice how Smith’s sentences employ everyday language, adhering to the principle of “proper words in proper places,” as Swift advised. Smith eschews rhetorical extravagance, making a single point in each clause and progressing smoothly, ensuring the reader isn’t left juggling fragments of a sentence. Yet, he does wield rhetorical devices effectively, as seen in his chiasmus about alehouses: it isn’t the establishments creating a thirst for alcohol, but rather the public’s thirst that brings them into existence.
This clarity doesn’t render Smith a lifeless academic. Far from it; when he holds a strong opinion, his writing pulses with fervor.
“England, however, as it has never been blessed with a very parsimonious government, so parsimony has at no time been the characteristical virtue of its inhabitants. It is the highest impertinence and presumption, therefore, in kings and ministers, to pretend to watch over the œconomy of private people, and to restrain their expence, either by sumptuary laws, or by prohibiting the importation of foreign luxuries. They are themselves always, and without any exception, the greatest spendthrifts in the society. Let them look well after their own expence, and they may safely trust private people with theirs. If their own extravagance does not ruin the state, that of their subjects never will.” (WN II.iii.36)
Unlike many social scientists, Smith captures life with an emotional pulse while maintaining a dispassionate perspective: “The contempt of risk, and the presumptuous hope of success, are in no period of life more active than at the age at which young people choose their professions.” (WN I.x.b.29) In discussing the perils faced by naval officers, he notes: “The distant prospect of hazards, from which we can hope to extricate ourselves by courage and address, is not disagreeable to us, and does not raise the wages of labour in any employment.” (WN I.x.b.32)
Despite being a thorough exposition of economic science, Smith’s writing is imbued with moral insight: “The most decisive mark of the prosperity of any country is the increase of the number of its inhabitants.” (WN I.viii.23) He critiques the “cobweb science of Ontology” (WN V.i.f.29) prevalent in universities, advocating for education that aims to “improve the understanding [and] to mend the heart.” (WN V.i.f.32)
After adjusting for the evolution of language (“most decisive mark”; “the presumptuous hope of success”), Smith’s prose remains accessible enough for contemporary magazine publication. The Wealth of Nations is rich with colloquial references, everyday statistics, and historical analogies. Generalizations are thoroughly supported with examples, and he will not proceed to the next argument until he has fully elucidated the current one. Recurring phrases like “necessities and conveniences” create thematic coherence, simplifying the reader’s journey through his arguments.
In these various aspects of his prose, Smith reveals himself as an astute reader—not only of his beloved Jonathan Swift but also of other literary giants like Addison and Johnson. He encouraged the reading of novelists such as Samuel Richardson, as well as Racine and Voltaire. Smith was a true humanist, equipped with the wisdom of life and books, enabling him to produce not just a significant treatise but a work that provides substantial joy to its readers.
