The impartial spectator

Everyone knows Adam Smith as the man of the invisible hand, the thinker who declared self-interest the engine of prosperity. Almost no one knows that the very same man, seventeen years earlier, wrote a book he considered more important, not about markets, but about morality. And that it contains an idea you can still use today as a personal compass. It may well be the most useful thing philosophy has ever said about the conscience, and it comes from the last person you would expect.

Smith's question was: how do we actually know whether our conduct is good? Not by looking at what others happen to think of us, for the crowd can be mistaken, can flatter, or can wage a smear campaign. And not by simply following our own feelings either, for in those we are usually far too kind to ourselves. Smith's answer was an imaginary figure he called the impartial spectator: a fair, well-informed, disinterested outsider who looks over your shoulder. When you wonder whether something is right, you picture that witness, and you ask: would they approve of this?

Not what people think, but what an honest person would think

Notice the subtle distinction, because that is where all the power lies. The spectator is not public opinion. It is not about what the neighbours, the timeline or the gossip make of it, those can be cruel or stupid or misled. It is about what a fair and well-informed observer would think, someone who knows the facts, has no stake in the outcome, and looks without prejudice. The conscience is, in Smith's beautiful image, that imagined just witness we carry in our heads, the voice that sometimes vindicates us against the whole world, and sometimes condemns us while everyone cheers us on.

That makes the compass robust at precisely the moments you need it. When a mob condemns you for something you stand behind, you can ask: would a fair, well-informed spectator condemn me? Sometimes the answer is no, and then you may hold your ground. But just as often it catches you out: when everyone around you joins in something dubious and it has come to feel normal, the impartial spectator forces you to ask whether a fair outsider, one who has not been swept along by the group, would approve of it too. Usually you know the answer at once.

A compass you can use

The beauty of this idea is that it works without your having to solve the whole moral edifice. Faced with a hard choice, at work, in a negotiation, in a conflict, you can summon the spectator: not "what can I get away with?" and not "what do they think of me?", but "what would a fair, well-informed, disinterested observer make of this if they knew everything I know?". It is no magic wand, you can still fool yourself about what that spectator would think. But it shifts the question to the only point that matters: not appearances, not opinion, but the judgement of a just mind.

A thought to take with you: at your next difficult decision, summon that impartial spectator. Picture someone you respect, who knows all the facts, and who has nothing to gain or lose from what you choose. Look them in the eye. You know, more honestly than you would like, what they would say.