During the lifetime of Adam Smith, Scotland witnessed two distinct forms of slavery. The first was the chattel slavery of individuals of African descent, a brutal system where people were treated as mere property, devoid of rights or protections even in the most horrific conditions. The second group consisted of colliers and salters—Scottish coal miners and salt workers—who, while possessing some civic rights, were effectively trapped in servitude due to a web of legal loopholes and political machinations.
Smith harbored a rather cynical view of sympathy; he didn’t believe it would inspire slave owners to empathize with their slaves. However, he did maintain hope that it could galvanize abolitionists to champion change. He doubted that politics or religion would abolish slavery, yet he had faith in economic arguments, dedicating classroom time to this pressing issue. Educating Scotland’s future leaders, he lamented that economic incentives alone might not be enough to prompt masters to emancipate their bondsmen. He famously stated, “It is indeed almost impossible that it should ever be totally or generally abolished,” even under a republican government (LJ(B) 102).
So, what could abolitionists realistically hope for? Perhaps only the uneven march of historical progress. As John W. Danford observes, “It appears, on Smith’s understanding, that historical progress has been a story not only of the spread of general opulence but also of a gradual transformation in the prevailing moral texture of societies” (Danford 1980, p. 686).
An Inevitable Evil?
Smith’s outlook on the future of abolition was rather bleak. He argued that slavery was both widespread and seemingly inescapable: “Slavery takes place in all societies at their beginning, and proceeds from that tyrannical disposition which may almost be said to be natural to mankind…It is indeed almost impossible that it should ever be totally or generally abolished” (LJ(B) 134, 102). He believed that as nations became wealthier, the prevalence of slavery increased, as affluent societies could afford to maintain more slaves. Moreover, the comfort of the free would only serve to intensify the plight of the enslaved: “the greater freedom of the free, the more intolerable is the slavery of the slaves” (LJ(B) iii.111).
Smith was skeptical that political or religious institutions would contribute to the end of slavery. Monarchs, he noted, would not be inclined to liberate their slaves—slavery was a reality in Scotland, after all. He remarked, “we are not to imagine the temper of the Christian religion is necessarily contrary to slavery” (LJ(B) iii.128), alluding to the many Christian nations, including Scotland, that permitted slavery. Even republican governments were unlikely to enact reforms, as those who crafted the laws were often slave owners themselves. Smith asserted that any legislation affecting slaves would primarily serve to bolster the authority of their masters and ensure the subjugation of the enslaved (LJ(b) iii.102).
While Smith presented an economic case against slavery, he did so with the understanding that neither monarchy nor economic interest could be relied upon to liberate the enslaved. Individuals entrenched in power and the status quo are seldom inclined to relinquish their privileges. He believed that demonstrating the material benefits of abolition—showing that masters could retain greater wealth and power without slaves—might eventually sway public opinion, albeit gradually.
However, this strategic approach raises an important question: was Smith opposed to slavery on a moral basis? The answer is a resounding yes, though he reserved his strongest condemnations for chattel slavery rather than the plight of coal and salt workers. He expressed his disdain for the treatment of Africans with striking clarity:
“Fortune never exerted more cruelly her empire over mankind, than when she subjected those nations of heroes to the refuse of the jails of Europe, to wretches who possess the virtues neither of the countries which they come from, nor of those which they go to, and whose levity, brutality, and baseness, so justly expose them to the contempt of the vanquished” (TMS, V.2.9).
Smith reflected on the harrowing existence of slaves, noting that their lives and property rested entirely in the hands of another, leaving them with little liberty, if any at all (LJ(B) iii.94). He emphasized the inherent misery of slavery, a point he felt required little elaboration (LJ(b) iii.112). However, these observations, while poignant, amounted to mere rhetoric rather than a robust argument against slavery. To condemn the institution morally, Smith needed a more substantial rationale, which he provided in The Theory of Moral Sentiments (TMS).
A Sentimental Path to Abolition?
In TMS, Smith developed a moral psychology that focused on how moral judgments function rather than prescribing a set of ethical standards. His reflections on the immorality of slavery were intricately tied to his broader discussions about the interconnectedness of humanity and the various perspectives individuals hold. Central to his argument was the concept of sympathy—the innate capacity for empathy that allows one to enter the experiences of others and assess the appropriateness of their moral sentiments.
Smith described moral sentiments as “moral observations” (Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, i.144). They encompass our judgments about and reactions to the judgments and actions of others. For instance, if we witness someone stub their toe and react angrily, we gauge whether their response is justified. If we find it acceptable, we sympathize; if not, we might suggest they temper their reaction.
Similarly, when we learn of someone owning slaves while failing to act to free them, we instinctively assess the appropriateness of their inaction. If we would react in the same way—keeping slaves in bondage—then we align ourselves with the slave owner. Conversely, if we disapprove, we anticipate a change in their behavior.
Smith argued that moral maturation allows us to reflect on ourselves through the lens of an ‘impartial spectator’—a conceptual figure that acts as our conscience. This spectator emerges from a negotiation of our experiences, cultural backgrounds, and historical contexts. While it can reflect the collective norms of society, it can also challenge the status quo. Scottish philosophers recognized the moral contradictions of slavery, understanding their communities’ tacit approval but feeling compelled by their own impartial spectators to reject it.
Smith candidly acknowledged that sympathy is often more easily extended to those we are geographically and culturally close to. The more similarities we share with others, the more likely we are to empathize with their moral judgments; the fewer similarities, the more likely we are to overlook their moral claims. This dynamic serves as the crux of Smith’s moral condemnation of slavery. Historically, slavery has manifested in various forms. In some instances, masters worked alongside their slaves, fostering a sense of camaraderie. However, as societies prospered, the rift between the experiences of slaves and their masters widened, ultimately stripping the latter of any capacity to comprehend the suffering endured by the former.
Smith posited that when we empathize with others suffering injustice, we inevitably adopt their resentment towards the source of their pain—namely, their masters. This presents a dilemma: for those in power to emancipate their slaves, they must first empathize with them and acknowledge their suffering, which requires a painful self-reflection and self-resentment. Acknowledging that slavery is wrong necessitates a certain level of self-hatred for the masters. The irony is that, in accepting emancipation, they would reclaim their self-love. In Smith’s view, self-acceptance aligns with moral self-approval, but the need for change implies a disapproval of oneself.
“He is a bold surgeon, they say, whose hand does not tremble when he performs an operation upon his own person; and he is often equally bold who does not hesitate to pull off the mysterious veil of self-delusion, which covers from his view the deformities of his own conduct. Rather than see our own behaviour under so disagreeable an aspect, we too often, foolishly and weakly, endeavour to exasperate anew those unjust passions which had formerly misled us; we endeavour by artifice to awaken our old hatreds, and irritate afresh our almost forgotten resentments: we even exert ourselves for this miserable purpose, and thus persevere in injustice, merely because we once were unjust, and because we are ashamed and afraid to see that we were so” (TMS, III.4.4).
Regrettably, this stubbornness serves as a psychological defense mechanism akin to economic irrationality, even if it remains indefensible in the long run. This phenomenon elucidates why societies constructed worldviews justifying slavery through biblical references, economic incentives for domination, and cultural narratives that reinforced the status quo. Yet these very instruments can also dismantle slavery; consider Uncle Tom’s Cabin, an abolitionist work crafted to evoke sympathy rather than obstruct it. As I discuss in my book Adam Smith’s Pluralism, Smith’s moral psychology reveals that the elements that unite us can also divide us, and vice versa (Weinstein 2013).
This paradox highlights an irony within Smith’s thought. Despite his belief in the human capacity for sympathy towards those closer to us, he demonstrated a greater sense of empathy for African chattel slaves than for Scottish colliers. He found it more challenging to recognize the suffering of his fellow countrymen than that of individuals from distant lands. This incongruity resonates with contemporary discussions surrounding servitude, where garment workers and migrants, while not slaves in name, often endure conditions akin to those faced by colliers. Whether the plight of Indian nationals in Saudi Arabia or child laborers in Bangladesh reflects the legacy of coal and salt workers remains a contentious issue—one Smith would undoubtedly recognize ([JW7]).
Of Colliers and Salters
Today’s readers might be unaware of the plight of colliers and salters. Smith’s references to Scotland’s involvement in the slave trade are vague, and he notably refrains from acknowledging his interactions with individuals profiting from the servitude of others. He was not alone in this blindness; many Scottish intellectuals condemned slavery without confronting their complicity in its existence. Historian Duncan Rice aptly summarizes, “Scotland was a society whose intellectual and religious leaders had turned against slavery, without developing the slightest conception that anything should be done about it” (Rice 1983).
Numerous Scots were directly linked to the slave trade in the West Indies. Young Scots traveled there to trade or invest in slaves, and many found themselves in professional roles for employers who did. Scotland’s economy thrived on tobacco and sugar, industries reliant on slave labor. The urgency of these issues may have felt less pressing for Smith than for abolitionists in the American colonies, where the demographic reality starkly contrasted with Scotland’s situation. Fewer than 100 African slaves resided in Scotland during Smith’s lifetime, while slaves constituted nearly 25 percent of the colonial population.
In stark contrast to the limited number of chattel slaves, Scotland had a significant population of colliers and salters. While some scholars refer to them as serfs, this characterization is misleading. The Act of 1606 effectively placed already employed coal miners and salt workers in a state of perpetual bondage, making it illegal to seek new employment without a testimonial from their current employer. Consequently, as long as their employer withheld such a testimonial, the workers were bound to them, often working a six-day week. This arrangement also allowed employers to bind the workers’ children in exchange for a nominal gift, ensuring lifelong servitude. Although colliers and salters were not considered property in the same way as Black slaves, the outcomes were disturbingly similar.
Smith grappled with this reality, referring to colliers as “the only vestiges of slavery which remain amongst us.” This statement sidesteps the issue of calling them slaves while ignoring the existence of African slaves still in Scotland. Instead of advocating for their rights, he focused on nuances, often portraying their situation more favorably than it warranted. He contended that masters could not kill their workers for pleasure or seize their property outright, and insisted they must compensate them for their labor. He argued, “They can be sold, it is true, but then it is only in a certain manner. When the work is sold, all the colliers or salters which belong to it are sold along with it… So that they are no way restricted more than other men, excepting that they are bound to exercise a certain business in a certain place” (LJ(b) iii.128).
This argument is ironic within the broader context of Smith’s work. While he correctly observed that the conditions of colliers and salters were better than those faced by many previous slaves, his assertion that they were not truly slaves because they were only bound to their profession conflicts with much of his later writing. In An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (hereafter Wealth of Nations or WN), Smith emphasizes the concept of “perfect liberty” for laborers, defined as the ability to “change his trade as often as he pleases” (WN I.vii.6, I.x.a.1). This liberty, however, is precisely what colliers and salters were denied. Smith refrained from condemning the slavery experienced by colliers and salters in his published works, leaving his most critical observations in his Lectures on Jurisprudence (LJ), which were not published by him and stemmed from student notes.
In WN, Smith discusses apprenticeships, likening them to servitude rather than education. He criticizes the system as “the epitome of the restrictions of the principles of competition and liberty,” arguing it is unjust that “during the continuance of the apprenticeship, the whole labour of the apprentice belongs to his master” (WN I.x.b.8). By preventing apprentices from marketing their skills (and it is worth noting that apprentices were predominantly male), the masters stripped them of the ability to negotiate better wages or conditions. Readers of the Wealth of Nations could reasonably anticipate that his objections to the situation of colliers and salters would closely mirror his critiques of apprenticeships, given the similar conditions they endured, though less extreme.
One would expect Smith to have condemned the bondage of colliers and salters in Wealth of Nations. After all, he was launching a “very violent attack… upon the whole commercial system of Great Britain” (Corr. 208). Moreover, Scottish society had become so vocal in its opposition to slavery, at least in principle, that his students would have grasped the implicit moral message in linking coal and salt work to slavery. Nevertheless, Smith taught affluent Scottish students at Glasgow College, who were likely familiar with the conditions faced by miners. Labeling colliers as slaves would have necessitated a robust argument and could have been interpreted as a politically charged statement, urging students to sympathize with the workers and consequently resent their coal masters. Smith was notoriously cautious regarding political provocation.
Yet, in discussing workers’ hesitations to enter contracts with coal masters, Smith inadvertently referred to colliers as slaves within the same paragraph where he labeled them the last vestiges of slavery (LJ(b) iii.130). This slip suggests an internal conflict in how he approached the subject. Importantly, Smith’s claims about human nature were not limited to market dynamics; they were part of a larger project outlined in TMS, which had been published three years prior to the lecture notes. Like his Scottish Enlightenment contemporaries, Smith aimed to contribute to what David Hume termed “the science of man,” a discipline grounded in the understanding that all sciences are subordinate to human nature, as they are perceived and judged by human faculties (Hume 1739). Exceptions to this principle would undermine the project as a whole.
An Insufficient Economic Case
Smith likely refrained from addressing the injustices faced by colliers and salters in his Lectures on Jurisprudence due to the class’s focus on a different topic. He was not making a moral case against slavery but rather an economic one. As indicated in the student notes, Smith outlined how bound workers and slaves are generally more expensive than free labor. He contended that recruiting colliers as free laborers would be simpler because potential workers were deterred from entering contracts, given the prevailing rule that working for a year and a day in the coal pit resulted in becoming a slave themselves (LJ(b) iii.128).
Smith reiterated similar observations about the economic inefficiency of slavery fourteen years later in Wealth of Nations. He argued that slave labor is the costliest form of labor and that it can only be extracted through violence, devoid of any personal interest from the slave (WN III.ii.9). Furthermore, he noted that slave labor incurs higher costs because its expenses are borne solely by the master, rather than shared with the workers: “…tenants, being freemen, are capable of acquiring property…they have a plain interest that the whole produce should be as great as possible… A slave, on the contrary, who can acquire nothing but his maintenance, consults his own ease by making the land produce as little as possible over and above that maintenance” (WN III.ii.12). The more competitive the job market, the lower workers’ salaries will be, a point he does not reiterate from his Lectures on Jurisprudence (LJ(b) 111.130), but is implicit in his assertion that the only reason sugar plantations employ slaves is that “they can afford the expense of slave cultivation” (WN III.ii.10).
Smith further maintained that “the wear and tear of a slave…is at the expense of his master, but that of a free servant at his own expense” (WN I.viii.41), specifying that more labor is required to achieve the same output from slaves compared to free workers (WN IV.ix). His rationale mirrors that in the Lectures on Jurisprudence: “The pride of man makes him love to domineer…wherever the law allows it, and the nature of the work can afford it, he will generally prefer the service of slaves to that of freemen” (WN III.ii.10). Ultimately, Smith concluded that “avarice and injustice are always short-sighted.” Those who wield power over bound workers or slaves are often blinded by their less rational desire for domination, which exploits “the pleasure it gives one to have some persons whom he can order to do his work rather than be obliged to persuade others to bargain with him” (LJ(b) iii.128).
The Slow Road to Abolition
As Smith anticipated, the end of slavery did not hinge on any singular argument, but rather unfolded through the slow, often painful progression of history. Scotland’s journey toward the abolition of chattel slavery accelerated after the publication of Wealth of Nations in 1776. The practice of personal slavery was banned in Scotland in 1778; the slave trade was made illegal in the British Colonies in 1807, and chattel slavery was formally abolished in 1822.
As for colliers and salters, legislation granting them the status of free laborers was enacted in 1775, while Smith was finalizing Wealth of Nations, though complete emancipation did not occur until 1799. This practice persisted in Northern England until 1872, seven years after the conclusion of the American Civil War, a far more violent resolution to the blot of Black slavery. While a handful still argue that slavery was beneficial for Black slaves or that Africans did not truly suffer, these views represent a tiny minority and are generally dismissed as fringe. Adam Smith would not extend his sympathy to them.
