Gilgamesh and the Invisible Hand

Sometimes we cling to theories of global orders and forget these theories don’t always lead where they should.

“Before it was emancipated as a field, economics lived happily within subsets of philosophy — ethics, for example — miles away from today’s concept of economics as a mathematical-allocative science that views ‘soft sciences’ with a scorn from positive arrogance.”  – Thomas Sedlacek

The Sumerian epic of Gilgamesh is one of the oldest written legends ever recorded, dating back to 2100 BCE. The cuneiform work tells the tale of the powerful king of Uruk, ‘Gilgamesh’, and his tyrannous exploits which ultimately give way to an era of laudable rulership.

Gilgamesh was a semi-mythic creature, two-thirds God and one-third man. As king, his leadership was marred by ceaseless war and an abuse of power, to which the people of Uruk pleaded to the Gods for help. In an effort to tame his tyranny, the Gods created Enkidu, a man-beast of equal strength to Gilgamesh.

Enkidu represented an innate evil of society; he was uncivilised and embodied a wildness that Gilgamesh, as king, was obliged to tame. Gilgamesh succeeded on this front, taming Enkidu who was transformed into a noble and valiant friend of the powerful king. Where Gilgamesh’s rule previously incited outcry from the people, the taming of Enkidu softened his heart, and his kingship became exemplary. In this way, Enkidu also tamed Gilgamesh’s cruelty — as was the intention of the Gods. Enkidu dies in the prelude of the epic but is arguably one of most important figures in the history of moral sentiments, and by extension, early economics.  

Myths, legends, and religious tales are often dismissed as moral guides, for the most part relevant to the study of history and ethics. In his book, Economics and Good and Evil, Sedlacek challenges this characterisation, proposing instead that such myths and legends are the roots of modern economic thought.

Economists predict market behaviour on the rationality of Homo economicus, a behavioural paradigm of humans as rational agents driven by self-interest — alike to Plato’s parallel Theory of Forms. Such agents embody greed, egotism, and a more broadly individualistic sentiment. But while these values align with the modern mechanics of capitalist markets, they appear at odds with the virtuous teachings of early moral codes. Or do they? At what point were these values accepted as cornerstones of economic doctrine? The answer may lie well before Adam Smith’s 18th-century Theory of Moral Sentiments.

Theory of Moral Sentiments is heralded as one of the first texts defining the social psychology of society on which Smith’s economic magnum opus, The Wealth of Nations, was founded. The Wealth of Nations is seminal to the theory of free-market economics and, regardless of the success, or abject flaws of the theory itself, has played a pivotal role in the formation of contemporary economic networks.

For Smith, allowing individuals to pursue their self-interests ultimately generates unintended greater social benefits. This is broadly known as Smith’s theory of the ‘invisible hand’ but essentially affirms the precept in the 4000-year-old epic of Gilgamesh; that the key to societal cohesion is to allow a modicum of ‘evil’ for ‘good’, ‘good’ being the development of society.

In the epic, Gilgamesh’s era of favourable leadership only begins after Enkidu — the wild spirit of evil — is tamed. Without the Gods allowing such evil to exist, the tyranny of Gilgamesh would have endured. Similarly, the ‘evil’ selfish greed of Homo economicus is considered a necessary counterpart to the invisible hand of the market, which purportedly gives rise to greater social benefit. Notably, this link hinges on just one interpretation of the legend but nevertheless raises an interesting discussion on moral approbation and disapproval across time and cultures.

Economist George Akerlof strongly advocates for narratives to be seen as a tool humankind harnesses to decode the complexity of societies. However, sometimes we cling to theories of global orders and forget these theories don’t always lead where they should. Perhaps this is the case with the modicum of evil, or maybe the answer lies later in the epic itself.