xxxMary to Claire: The Edinburgh Supper – 212

Mary, listening from the Villa, entrusts her sister Claire to draw Adam Smith back to his earlier philosophy of sympathy, asking the pivotal question that could change the course of the dinner.

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My dearest Claire,

Through Molly’s magic I hear you—your fork sharper than their wit, your laughter like a bell among so many earnest voices. How strange, to sit apart at the Villa and yet feel myself at your side.

You have already stirred them well, but now I must beg a service only you can render. Adam Smith speaks stoutly of rivers and opulence, yet I know he once wrote of gentler things—of sympathy, of fellow-feeling, of the bonds that make us human. I fear he has left that softer book on the shelf while he argues his engines and markets.

Sister, when the plates are cleared and the sweets arrive, lean toward him with that charm only you wield, and ask: Can universal opulence mean anything if it forgets sympathy? Do not let him retreat to prices and pistons—draw out of him the heart beneath the ledger.

If he will admit that sympathy is the spring, then perhaps thrivance is no mere dream, but a future rooted in both commerce and compassion.

Yours always,
Mary