"Poverty us no disgrace to a man, but it is confoundedly inconvenient"
About this Quote
Smith’s line snaps like a well-aimed pin: it punctures moral posturing while refusing sentimental consolation. “Poverty is no disgrace” sounds like the kind of piety a clergyman might dispense from a pulpit, the reassuring doctrine that a person’s worth isn’t measured in coin. Then he swerves. “But it is confoundedly inconvenient” drags the idea back down to the lived world of rent, hunger, damp rooms, and social humiliations that don’t care what your soul is worth.
The intent is double-edged. On the surface, he’s offering dignity to the poor, resisting the common Victorian reflex to treat hardship as evidence of vice. Underneath, he’s also mocking the comfortable habit of praising poverty from a safe distance. The adverb “confoundedly” is doing a lot of cultural work: it’s a clipped, semi-profane British intensifier that lets him sound candid without fully breaking clerical decorum. Moral seriousness gets punctured by a flash of impatience, as if he’s tired of hearing poverty framed as spiritually “good for you.”
Context matters. Smith was a reform-minded Anglican voice in an England wrestling with industrialization, urban deprivation, and a rising ideology that equated economic failure with personal failure. His aphorism refuses that moral accounting. It argues for a basic, modern premise: you can defend someone’s honor and still insist their situation is intolerable.
It works because it denies listeners the luxury of purity. You don’t get to convert poverty into virtue; you have to confront it as a practical cruelty.
The intent is double-edged. On the surface, he’s offering dignity to the poor, resisting the common Victorian reflex to treat hardship as evidence of vice. Underneath, he’s also mocking the comfortable habit of praising poverty from a safe distance. The adverb “confoundedly” is doing a lot of cultural work: it’s a clipped, semi-profane British intensifier that lets him sound candid without fully breaking clerical decorum. Moral seriousness gets punctured by a flash of impatience, as if he’s tired of hearing poverty framed as spiritually “good for you.”
Context matters. Smith was a reform-minded Anglican voice in an England wrestling with industrialization, urban deprivation, and a rising ideology that equated economic failure with personal failure. His aphorism refuses that moral accounting. It argues for a basic, modern premise: you can defend someone’s honor and still insist their situation is intolerable.
It works because it denies listeners the luxury of purity. You don’t get to convert poverty into virtue; you have to confront it as a practical cruelty.
Quote Details
| Topic | Witty One-Liners |
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