For more than four years, a single page from The Theory of Moral Sentiments has lingered with me. Adam Smith writes, “I judge of your sight by my sight, of your reason by my reason, of your love by my love.”The sentence is deceptively simple, yet I have never been able to move past it. It speaks to the mysterious way we come to know one another, how we interpret someone’s interior world only through the texture and memory of our own. It exposes the fragile line between empathy and projection, between truly perceiving someone and merely encountering an echo of ourselves. Smith’s insight reveals just how quickly we fill in gaps with our own stories, wounds, expectations, and assumptions. Yet he also invites us to humility, showing that our inability to fully know another person is not a failure but a reminder of our dependence on God for the kind of sight we cannot manufacture on our own.

Smith's premise is that moral life begins with sympathy, the imaginative act of entering another's experience as best we can. Yet even the sincerest attempt at empathy is shaped by our own memories, emotions, and limitations. I can sense another's sorrow because I have known sorrow myself, and I can honor another's joy because I have recognized joy within my own life. But empathy will always be a translation, a heartfelt attempt that still carries the imprint of our own histories. Instead of seeing this as a flaw, Smith understood it as part of being human. We do not possess God's omniscience; we see in part, interpret in part, and love through imperfect understanding. These limits remind us that compassion requires gentleness, patience, and deep humility, because our interpretations are never the whole story.

The Mirror of Moral Imagination

Smith’s image of the “impartial spectator” invites us into the quiet interior space where we examine our motives, measure our reactions, and test the integrity of our judgments. It is that sacred room within us where conscience whispers and where grace can soften our natural defensiveness. Yet this inner witness is easily clouded by fear, insecurity, exhaustion, or ego. When these forces guide us, our sight narrows, and our judgments harden. It takes courage to pause long enough to ask whether our perceptions are grounded in truth or shaped by old habits of self-protection. Moral imagination deepens when love steadies it, when humility stretches it, and when compassion widens the frame. As the Spirit shapes our inner life, our judgments become less about preserving our own narratives and more about seeking what is good and healing for everyone involved.

Moral imagination grows as we learn to release our assumptions and make room for God’s perspective. Instead of reacting from instinct, we begin responding from a place of discernment and grace. The more our inner world is shaped by Christ, the more we learn to hold tension without rushing to resolution. We discover that seeing someone clearly often requires slowing down long enough to see ourselves more honestly. This process is uncomfortable, yet it is part of spiritual maturity. Relationships become mirrors—reflecting what is true, exposing what needs healing, and reminding us of what we still do not see. Through this unhurried refinement, moral imagination moves from simply interpreting situations to participating in the work of restoration.

Scripture’s Harmony: Knowing by Participation

Long before Smith wrote of sympathy, Scripture called us to a similar way of living: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.”This is not an invitation to mimic emotion but a call to enter someone's experience with presence, reverence, and humility. Shared joy expands our hearts; shared sorrow stretches our compassion. God uses these moments to shape us into people who can hold space for others with tenderness and compassion. We may not fully understand another's story, but Scripture never requires comprehension; only faithfulness is required. Presence becomes its own ministry, reminding others they are not walking alone. This willingness to stand in the mystery of someone's experience transforms us into people who see not with haste, but with sacred attentiveness.

Empathy becomes a spiritual discipline when we choose presence over certainty. It teaches us to step away from the urge to diagnose or fix and instead lean into the ministry of simply being with someone. This kind of love requires patience, because it asks us to surrender the illusion that we can fully interpret what we do not live ourselves. God meets us in the pauses, in the quiet witnessing of someone else’s reality. As we draw near to others, He refines our vision and enlarges our capacity for compassion. Over time, empathy shifts from being an emotional reaction to becoming a posture of grace. Through these sacred exchanges, we learn to see more like Him.

From Sympathy to Sanctification

What Smith perceived through philosophy, the Spirit brings to life through sanctification. The inner witness he described becomes the space where God reshapes our sight and aligns our instincts with Christ's heart. As the Spirit matures us, our first reactions soften, and our judgments slow to make space for love. Sanctification teaches us that seeing rightly is not simply a matter of intellect; it is the work of the Spirit forming us from the inside out. We learn that compassion and courage are companions, not opposites. We discover that truth and tenderness are meant to coexist. As God transforms our inner life, our empathy becomes anchored in holiness, shaped not by sentiment but by the redemptive vision of Christ.

True sanctified sight requires surrender. It stretches us beyond our comfort zone and challenges the narratives we build around others. Where we once relied on instinct, we now begin to rely on the Spirit's quiet nudges. Where we once protected our own interpretations, we begin to yield to God's wisdom. This process is slow, but it is sacred, and it reshapes how we engage with others. In this transformation, understanding becomes intercession, and empathy becomes an expression of God's heart through us. Seeing another person rightly becomes an act of worship.

Flourishing as Shared Humanity

Flourishing is often imagined as an individual journey, but Scripture and lived experience reveal that flourishing is deeply communal in nature. We thrive not in isolation but in relationships marked by honesty, humility, and compassion. Shalom God's vision of peace is woven through right relationships, shared burdens, and truth spoken in love. Flourishing grows in the soil of communities where people refuse to let misunderstanding have the final word. It grows where accountability is offered with tenderness and where correction is extended as an act of care. It grows where people commit to seeing each other fully, even when the truth is uncomfortable. When we embrace this shared vision of flourishing, we become participants in God's healing work.

Communities flourish when people are willing to show up for one another in ways that are courageous and kind. Flourishing is not the absence of tension but the presence of grace within it. It is the willingness to address what is misaligned without diminishing the person behind the problem. When we choose this posture, our relationships become spaces where dignity is protected and growth is possible. In these moments, moral imagination becomes a gift we extend to one another. It becomes the seed of healing and the doorway to understanding. In its fullness, flourishing reflects the heart of God.

When Seeing Becomes Knowing

A recent conversation brought all of these truths into sharper focus. I had been acquainted with someone only through their written work and through the impressions others had shared. This individual's skills and commitment were evident, but something essential —namely, their warmth, sincerity, and depth —did not fully appear on the page. As a result, they had been unintentionally misperceived, even by people who had a deep respect. By the time I coached her, she had already absorbed similar feedback, all of which pointed to the same concern. The weight of that realization settled heavily on me.

As this person shared their story, the truth behind their situation came into view. She had been overfunctioning for months, stepping into the gaps left by others' underfunctioning and carrying more than anyone could sustain. It became clear how easily perception can distort reality when we lack proximity. I realized how my own understanding had been shaped by distance, limited information, and assumptions formed in haste. Smith's sentence echoed in my mind: I had judged her sight by my sight. That realization softened something in me. Truth needed to be spoken, but it needed to be spoken with tenderness, because truth without compassion can wound, and compassion without truth cannot set anyone free.

Learning to See Rightly

This is why Smith's insight continues to stay with me. It challenges my instinct to rely on my own sight. It invites me to surrender the illusion that I can fully interpret another person on my own. To see through another's eyes, I must allow the Spirit to reshape my perception. This requires patience with myself and grace for others. It asks me to question my initial judgments, to make room for complexity, and to trust that God sees with perfect clarity when I see dimly. When Christ's compassion becomes the lens through which I look, everything shifts. The tired look different, the guarded look different, and the quiet look different when I remember that every person carries a story only God fully knows.

As God's love reshapes my sight, what once felt like analysis becomes an invitation to pray. What once felt like a critique becomes a call to encourage. What once felt like certainty becomes a reminder that I am still learning how to see. Through this shift, moral imagination becomes an instrument of God's grace. The more I yield to His shaping, the more I see others with tenderness instead of haste. And in those moments, sight becomes ministry.

The Abiding Lesson

Four years of contemplation and numerous coaching interactions have taught me that Smith's insight is not simply about empathy; it is about spiritual vision. To flourish is to learn how to behold God, ourselves, and one another through the lens of redeemed sight. We are shaped not through detached observation, but through relational knowing, as the Spirit aligns our inner witness with God's love. True moral maturity is not perfect sight but purified sight, gradually refined through humility, truth, compassion, and grace.

This may be what Smith sensed, but Scripture fulfills: the transformation of perception into love, the renewal of the mind into discernment, and the sanctification of empathy into holy insight. When the Spirit trains the eye of the heart, we learn to see others not as problems to solve but as people to love. We discover that vision itself becomes ministry when it is shaped by Christ. Ultimately, learning to see through another's eyes is an act of discipleship that draws us closer to God. It calls us to humility in judgment, courage in compassion, and faith in the One who sees perfectly when we see dimly. Where sight is sanctified, love grows. And where love grows, God draws near one right seeing at a time.