O’Rourke, a senior at Emory University studying economics and philosophy, is an intern at the Bridge Alliance.
In the middle of the Scottish enlightenment in 1776, the premodern social scientist and moral philosopher Adam Smith published what later became the magnum opus of free-market capitalism. “The Wealth of Nations” became the starting point from which the academic field of economics emerged and societies organized their economies.
Smith’s primary insights are familiar to those who have studied economics: If individuals specialize in a particular task and pursue their self-interest, then the “invisible hand” will promote beneficial social and economic outcomes for all. In many ways, it seems as if Smith hit the nail on the head; since the time of writing, nations that have embraced free-market principles have witnessed unprecedented leaps in their standards of living and quality of life — oftentimes as a direct consequence of individuals’ pursuing their self-interest.
Over the past several decades, however, Smith’s invisible hand theory has been increasingly scrutinized, evidenced by calls from both the right and the left to interrupt the operations of the free market for the sake of the common good. Liberals, though historically proponents of free markets, began to contend that laissez-faire economic systems allow certain individuals and businesses to accrue immense wealth at the expense of the remainder of the population. Similarly, many conservatives are challenging the efficacy of the free market, pointing to the newfound poverty in geographies that were once areas of great prosperity, such as the industrial Midwest. The culprits of this decline — globalization and technological advancement — are unmistakably the offspring of free market capitalism.
The typical retort of Smith sympathizers is that the corporations at the top — such as Amazon, Walmart and Apple — benefit the masses in the form of lower prices and socially beneficial innovations. They also argue that capitalism does not guarantee the prosperity of everyone (especially former factory workers in middle America), and that economic progress often entails “creative destruction.” And while there is undoubtedly some validity in these responses, Smith’s challengers are pointing to a more fundamental issue associated with our economic system: the decay of our social and communal fabric. That is, despite our economy and standards of living growing to unimaginable heights, more and more individuals have felt increasingly estranged from their communities. Those who challenge the free-market orthodoxy point to the rampant individualism and self-interest embedded in “Wealth of Nations,” arguing that the ethic of individuality does not promote optimal social conditions.
So was Smith wrong? Is the degradation of our communities a necessary side effect of Smith’s free markets? To answer these questions, it is helpful to transition from looking at Smith as a social scientist to Smith as a moral philosopher.
In Smith’s only other published work, “The Theory of Moral Sentiments” (published before “The Wealth of Nations”), he argues that humans are social creatures who are naturally endowed with “mutual sympathy,” or regard for others. Although many observe a direct contradiction between Smith’s conception of mutual sympathy and his ethic of self-interest, the celebrated Scot remedies this confusion. To live morally, according to Smith, mutual sympathy must be baked into our self-interest. That is, the flourishing of others — especially those with whom we are closest, such as our families and communities — ought to be a necessary component of our individual well-being. For a society to flourish, then, this regard for others must be observable throughout all social systems, not least of which being the economy.
Unfortunately, most participants in today’s market economy have an impoverished understanding of Smith’s vision, conflating self-interest and selfishness. Indeed, Smith explicitly disapproves of selfishness, writing in “The Wealth of Nations,” “all for ourselves, and nothing for other people, seems, in every age of the world, to have been the vile maxim of the masters of mankind." While Smith advocated for economic liberty, he operated under the assumption that the members of society behave ethically, baking mutual sympathy into their calculation of self-interest.
Thus, it seems that the timeless economic debate over the extent to which the government should intervene in the free market misses the heart of Smith’s contribution. Smith’s foremost concern would likely be the paltry moral character of many in our society and economy. Therefore, those looking to promote mass flourishing should primarily be interested in promoting the moral composition of our society. Specifically, this means expanding our narrow vision of self-interest to include mutual sympathy and restoring a vision of the common good.
Unfortunately, pure individualism and selfishness are now so ingrained in our culture that a radical response is necessary. “Radical Decency” — a term coined by social activist Jeff Garson and the title of his recently published book — sets out to do just that. He argues that by allowing our social lives to be guided by values such as respect, understanding and empathy, we will slow the degradation of our communal fabric and overcome the toxicity of our culture. Garson believes that incorporating decency into our economic lives is one way to ensure that Smith’s mutual sympathy is not lost.
Surely, a thriving economy requires individuals to respond to price and profit incentives — and incorporating radical decency in our economic lives does not mean totally disregarding economic efficiency. It simply means that we would be remiss to ignore Smith’s emphasis on mutual sympathy and his desire for human and communal flourishing — not the dog-eat-dog world of distrust, selfishness and greed in which we currently find ourselves. We must remember mutual sympathy and radical decency.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.