Chapter VII: Appendix: Ii.—concerning the Harmony of Politics with Morals (5)

There is no intelligible meaning in the idea of the law of nations as giving a right to make war; for that must be a right to decide what is just, not in accordance with universal, external laws limiting the freedom of each individual, but by means of one-sided maxims applied by force. We must then understand by this that men of such ways of thinking are quite justly served, when they destroy one another, and thus find perpetual peace in the wide grave which covers all the abominations of acts of violence as well as the authors of such deeds. For states, in their relation to one another, there can be, according to reason, no other way of advancing from that lawless condition which unceasing war implies, than by giving up their savage lawless freedom, just as individual men have done, and yielding to the coercion of public laws. Thus they can form a State of nations (_civitas gentium_), one, too, which will be ever increasing and would finally embrace all the peoples of the earth. States, however, in accordance with their understanding of the law of nations, by no means desire this, and therefore reject _in hypothesi_ what is correct _in thesi_. Hence, instead of the positive idea of a world-republic, if all is not to be lost, only the negative substitute for it, a federation averting war, maintaining its ground and ever extending over the world may stop the current of this tendency to war and shrinking from the control of law. But even then there will be a constant danger that this propensity may break out.[131] “Furor impius intus—fremit horridus ore cruento.” (Virgil.)[132]

[131] On the conclusion of peace at the end of a war, it might
not be unseemly for a nation to appoint a day of humiliation,
after the festival of thanksgiving, on which to invoke the
mercy of Heaven for the terrible sin which the human race are
guilty of, in their continued unwillingness to submit (in their
relations with other states) to a law-governed constitution,
preferring rather in the pride of their independence to use the
barbarous method of war, which after all does not really settle
what is wanted, namely, the right of each state in a quarrel. The
feasts of thanksgiving during a war for a victorious battle, the
hymns which are sung—to use the Jewish expression—“to the Lord
of Hosts” are not in less strong contrast to the ethical idea
of a father of mankind; for, apart from the indifference these
customs show to the way in which nations seek to establish their
rights—sad enough as it is—these rejoicings bring in an element
of exultation that a great number of lives, or at least the
happiness of many, has been destroyed.

[132] Cf. _Aeneidos_, I. 294 _seq._

“Furor impius intus,
Saeva sedens super arma, et centum vinctus aënis
Post tergum nodis, fremet horridus ore cruento.” [Tr.]

THIRD DEFINITIVE ARTICLE OF PERPETUAL PEACE

III.—“The rights of men, as citizens of the world, shall be limited to the conditions of universal hospitality.”

We are speaking here, as in the previous articles, not of philanthropy, but of right; and in this sphere hospitality signifies the claim of a stranger entering foreign territory to be treated by its owner without hostility. The latter may send him away again, if this can be done without causing his death; but, so long as he conducts himself peaceably, he must not be treated as an enemy. It is not a right to be treated as a guest to which the stranger can lay claim—a special friendly compact on his behalf would be required to make him for a given time an actual inmate—but he has a right of visitation. This right[133] to present themselves to society belongs to all mankind in virtue of our common right of possession on the surface of the earth on which, as it is a globe, we cannot be infinitely scattered, and must in the end reconcile ourselves to existence side by side: at the same time, originally no one individual had more right than another to live in any one particular spot. Uninhabitable portions of the surface, ocean and desert, split up the human community, but in such a way that ships and camels—“the ship of the desert”—make it possible for men to come into touch with one another across these unappropriated regions and to take advantage of our common claim to the face of the earth with a view to a possible intercommunication. The inhospitality of the inhabitants of certain sea coasts—as, for example, the coast of Barbary—in plundering ships in neighbouring seas or making slaves of shipwrecked mariners; or the behaviour of the Arab Bedouins in the deserts, who think that proximity to nomadic tribes constitutes a right to rob, is thus contrary to the law of nature. This right to hospitality, however—that is to say, the privilege of strangers arriving on foreign soil—does not amount to more than what is implied in a permission to make an attempt at intercourse with the original inhabitants. In this way far distant territories may enter into peaceful relations with one another. These relations may at last come under the public control of law, and thus the human race may be brought nearer the realisation of a cosmopolitan constitution.

[133] Cf. Vattel (_op. cit._, II. ch. IX. § 123):—“The right of
passage is also a remnant of the primitive state of communion,
in which the entire earth was common to all mankind, and the
passage was everywhere free to each individual according to his
necessities. Nobody can be entirely deprived of this right.” See
also above, p. 65, _note_. [Tr.]

Let us look now, for the sake of comparison, at the inhospitable behaviour of the civilised nations, especially the commercial states of our continent. The injustice which they exhibit on visiting foreign lands and races—this being equivalent in their eyes to conquest—is such as to fill us with horror. America, the negro countries, the Spice Islands, the Cape etc. were, on being discovered, looked upon as countries which belonged to nobody; for the native inhabitants were reckoned as nothing. In Hindustan, under the pretext of intending to establish merely commercial depots, the Europeans introduced foreign troops; and, as a result, the different states of Hindustan were stirred up to far-spreading wars. Oppression of the natives followed, famine, insurrection, perfidy and all the rest of the litany of evils which can afflict mankind.

China[134] and Japan (Nipon) which had made an attempt at receiving guests of this kind, have now taken a prudent step. Only to a single European people, the Dutch, has China given the right of access to her shores (but not of entrance into the country), while Japan has granted both these concessions; but at the same time they exclude the Dutch who enter, as if they were prisoners, from social intercourse with the inhabitants. The worst, or from the standpoint of ethical judgment the best, of all this is that no satisfaction is derived from all this violence, that all these trading companies stand on the verge of ruin, that the Sugar Islands, that seat of the most horrible and deliberate slavery, yield no real profit, but only have their use indirectly and for no very praiseworthy object—namely, that of furnishing men to be trained as sailors for the men-of-war and thereby contributing to the carrying on of war in Europe. And this has been done by nations who make a great ado about their piety, and who, while they are quite ready to commit injustice, would like, in their orthodoxy, to be considered among the elect.

[134] In order to call this great empire by the name which
it gives itself—namely, China, not Sina or a word of similar
sound—we have only to look at Georgii: _Alphab. Tibet._, pp.
651-654, particularly _note_ b., below. According to the
observation of Professor Fischer of St. Petersburg, there is
really no particular name which it always goes by: the most
usual is the word _Kin_, _i.e._ gold, which the inhabitants of
Tibet call _Ser_. Hence the emperor is called the king of gold,
_i.e._ the king of the most splendid country in the world. This
word _Kin_ may probably be _Chin_ in the empire itself, but
be pronounced _Kin_ by the Italian missionaries on account of
the gutturals. Thus we see that the country of the Seres, so
often mentioned by the Romans, was China: the silk, however,
was despatched to Europe across Greater Tibet, probably through
Smaller Tibet and Bucharia, through Persia and then on. This
leads to many reflections as to the antiquity of this wonderful
state, as compared with Hindustan, at the time of its union with
Tibet and thence with Japan. On the other hand, the name Sina or
Tschina which is said to be given to this land by neighbouring
peoples leads to nothing.

Perhaps we can explain the ancient intercourse of Europe with
Tibet—a fact at no time widely known—by looking at what Hesychius
has preserved on the matter. I refer to the shout, Κουξ Ομπαξ
(_Konx Ompax_), the cry of the Hierophants in the Eleusinian
mysteries (cf. _Travels of Anacharsis the Younger_, Part V., p.
447, _seq._). For, according to Georgii _Alph. Tibet._, the word
_Concioa_ which bears a striking resemblance to _Konx_ means
God. _Pak-cio_ (_ib._ p. 520) which might easily be pronounced
by the Greeks like _pax_ means _promulgator legis_, the divine
principle permeating nature (called also, on p. 177, _Cencresi_).
_Om_, however, which La Croze translates by _benedictus_,
_i.e._ blessed, can when applied to the Deity mean nothing but
beatified (p. 507). Now P. Franc. Horatius, when he asked the
Lhamas of Tibet, as he often did, what they understood by God
(_Concioa_) always got the answer:—“it is the assembly of all the
saints,” _i.e._ the assembly of those blessed ones who have been
born again according to the faith of the Lama and, after many
wanderings in changing forms, have at last returned to God, to
Burchane: that is to say, they are beings to be worshipped, souls
which have undergone transmigration (p. 223). So the mysterious
expression _Konx Ompax_ ought probably to mean the holy (_Konx_),
blessed, (_Om_) and wise (_Pax_) supreme Being pervading the
universe, the personification of nature. Its use in the Greek
mysteries probably signified monotheism for the Epoptes, in
distinction from the polytheism of the people, although elsewhere
P. Horatius scented atheism here. How that mysterious word
came by way of Tibet to the Greeks may be explained as above;
and, on the other hand, in this way is made probable an early
intercourse of Europe with China across Tibet, earlier perhaps
than the communication with Hindustan. (There is some difference
of opinion as to the meaning of the words κόγξ ὄμπαξ—according
to Liddell and Scott, a corruption of κόγξ, ὁμοίως πάξ. Kant’s
inferences here seem to be more than far-fetched. Lobeck, in his
_Aglaophamus_ (p. 775), gives a quite different interpretation
which has, he says, been approved by scholars. And Whately
(_Historic Doubts relative to Napoleon Bonaparte_, 3rd. ed.,
Postscript) uses Konx Ompax as a pseudonym. [Tr.])

The intercourse, more or less close, which has been everywhere steadily increasing between the nations of the earth, has now extended so enormously that a violation of right in one part of the world is felt all over it. Hence the idea of a cosmopolitan right is no fantastical, high-flown notion of right, but a complement of the unwritten code of law—constitutional as well as international law—necessary for the public rights of mankind in general and thus for the realisation of perpetual peace. For only by endeavouring to fulfil the conditions laid down by this cosmopolitan law can we flatter ourselves that we are gradually approaching that ideal.

FIRST SUPPLEMENT

CONCERNING THE GUARANTEE OF PERPETUAL PEACE

This guarantee is given by no less a power than the great artist nature (_natura dædala rerum_) in whose mechanical course is clearly exhibited a predetermined design to make harmony spring from human discord, even against the will of man. Now this design, although called Fate when looked upon as the compelling force of a cause, the laws of whose operation are unknown to us, is, when considered as the purpose manifested in the course of nature, called Providence,[135] as the deep-lying wisdom of a Higher Cause, directing itself towards the ultimate practical end of the human race and predetermining the course of things with a view to its realisation. This Providence we do not, it is true, perceive in the cunning contrivances [_Kunstanstalten_] of nature; nor can we even conclude from the fact of their existence that it is there; but, as in every relation between the form of things and their final cause, we can, and must, supply the thought of a Higher Wisdom, in order that we may be able to form an idea of the possible existence of these products after the analogy of human works of art [_Kunsthandlungen_].[136] The representation to ourselves of the relation and agreement of these formations of nature to the moral purpose for which they were made and which reason directly prescribes to us, is an Idea, it is true, which is in theory superfluous; but in practice it is dogmatic, and its objective reality is well established.[137] Thus we see, for example, with regard to the ideal [_Pflichtbegriff_] of perpetual peace, that it is our duty to make use of the mechanism of nature for the realisation of that end. Moreover, in a case like this where we are interested merely in the theory and not in the religious question, the use of the word “nature” is more appropriate than that of “providence”, in view of the limitations of human reason, which, in considering the relation of effects to their causes, must keep within the limits of possible experience. And the term “nature” is also less presumptuous than the other. To speak of a Providence knowable by us would be boldly to put on the wings of Icarus in order to draw near to the mystery of its unfathomable purpose.

[135] In the mechanical system of nature to which man belongs as
a sentient being, there appears, as the underlying ground of its
existence, a certain _form_ which we cannot make intelligible
to ourselves except by thinking into the physical world the
idea of an end preconceived by the Author of the universe: this
predetermination of nature on the part of God we generally call
Divine Providence. In so far as this providence appears in the
origin of the universe, we speak of Providence as founder of the
world (_providentia conditrix; semel jussit, semper parent._
Augustine). As it maintains the course of nature, however,
according to universal laws of adaptation to preconceived ends,
[_i.e._ teleological laws] we call it a ruling providence
(_providentia gubernatrix_). Further, we name it the guiding
providence (_providentia directrix_), as it appears in the
world for special ends, which we could not foresee, but suspect
only from the result. Finally, regarding particular events
as divine purposes, we speak no longer of providence, but of
dispensation (_directio extraordinaria_). As this term, however,
really suggests the idea of miracles, although the events are
not spoken of by this name, the desire to fathom dispensation,
as such, is a foolish presumption in men. For, from one single
occurrence, to jump at the conclusion that there is a particular
principle of efficient causes and that this event is an end and
not merely the natural [_naturmechanische_] sequence of a
design quite unknown to us is absurd and presumptuous, in however
pious and humble a spirit we may speak of it. In the same way to
distinguish between a universal and a particular providence when
regarding it _materialiter_, in its relation to actual objects
in the world (to say, for instance, that there may be, indeed,
a providence for the preservation of the different species of
creation, but that individuals are left to chance) is false and
contradictory. For providence is called universal for the very
reason that no single thing may be thought of as shut out from
its care. Probably the distinction of two kinds of providence,
_formaliter_ or subjectively considered, had reference to the
manner in which its purposes are fulfilled. So that we have
ordinary providence (_e.g._ the yearly decay and awakening to
new life in nature with change of season) and what we may call
unusual or special providence (_e.g._ the bringing of timber
by ocean currents to Arctic shores where it does not grow, and
where without this aid the inhabitants could not live). Here,
although we can quite well explain the physico-mechanical cause
of these phenomena—in this case, for example, the banks of the
rivers in temperate countries are over-grown with trees, some of
which fall into the water and are carried along, probably by the
Gulf Stream—we must not overlook the teleological cause which
points to the providential care of a ruling wisdom above nature.
But the concept, commonly used in the schools of philosophy,
of a co-operation on the part of the Deity or a concurrence
(_concursus_) in the operations going on in the world of sense,
must be dropped. For it is, firstly, self-contradictory to couple
the like and the unlike together (_gryphes jungere equis_) and
to let Him who is Himself the entire cause of the changes in the
universe make good any shortcomings in His own predetermining
providence (which to require this must be defective) during the
course of the world; for example, to say that the physician has
restored the sick with the help of God—that is to say that He
has been present as a support. For _causa solitaria non juvat_.
God created the physician as well as his means of healing; and
we must ascribe the result wholly to Him, if we will go back
to the supreme First Cause which, theoretically, is beyond our
comprehension. Or we can ascribe the result entirely to the
physician, in so far as we follow up this event, as explicable in
the chain of physical causes, according to the order of nature.
Secondly, moreover, such a way of looking at this question
destroys all the fixed principles by which we judge an effect.
But, from the ethico-practical point of view which looks entirely
to the transcendental side of things, the idea of a divine
concurrence is quite proper and even necessary: for example,
in the faith that God will make good the imperfection of our
human justice, if only our feelings and intentions are sincere;
and that He will do this by means beyond our comprehension,
and therefore we should not slacken our efforts after what is
good. Whence it follows, as a matter of course, that no one must
attempt to explain a good action as a mere event in time by this
_concursus_; for that would be to pretend a theoretical knowledge
of the supersensible and hence be absurd.

[136] _Id est_, which we cannot dissever from the idea of a
creative skill capable of producing them. [Tr.]

[137] See preface, p. ix. above.

Before we determine the surety given by nature more exactly, we must first look at what ultimately makes this guarantee of peace necessary—the circumstances in which nature has carefully placed the actors in her great theatre. In the next place, we shall proceed to consider the manner in which she gives this surety.

The provisions she has made are as follow: (1) she has taken care that men _can_ live in all parts of the world; (2) she has scattered them by means of war in all directions, even into the most inhospitable regions, so that these too might be populated; (3) by this very means she has forced them to enter into relations more or less controlled by law. It is surely wonderful that, on the cold wastes round the Arctic Ocean, there is always to be found moss for the reindeer to scrape out from under the snow, the reindeer itself either serving as food or to draw the sledge of the Ostiak or Samoyedes. And salt deserts which would otherwise be left unutilised have the camel, which seems as if created for travelling in such lands. This evidence of design in things, however, is still more clear when we come to know that, besides the fur-clad animals of the shores of the Arctic Ocean, there are seals, walruses and whales whose flesh furnishes food and whose oil fire for the dwellers in these regions. But the providential care of nature excites our wonder above all, when we hear of the driftwood which is carried—whence no one knows—to these treeless shores: for without the aid of this material the natives could neither construct their craft, nor weapons, nor huts for shelter. Here too they have so much to do, making war against wild animals, that they live at peace with one another. But what drove them originally into these regions was probably nothing but war.

Of animals, used by us as instruments of war, the horse was the first which man learned to tame and domesticate during the period of the peopling of the earth; the elephant belongs to the later period of the luxury of states already established. In the same way, the art of cultivating certain grasses called cereals—no longer known to us in their original form—and also the multiplication and improvement, by transplanting and grafting, of the original kinds of fruit—in Europe, probably only two species, the crab-apple and wild pear—could only originate under the conditions accompanying established states where the rights of property are assured. That is to say it would be after man, hitherto existing in lawless liberty, had advanced beyond the occupations of a hunter,[138] a fisherman or a shepherd to the life of a tiller of the soil, when salt and iron were discovered,—to become, perhaps, the first articles of commerce between different peoples,—and were sought far and near. In this way the peoples would be at first brought into peaceful relation with one another, and so come to an understanding and the enjoyment of friendly intercourse, even with their most distant neighbours.

[138] Of all modes of livelihood the life of the hunter is
undoubtedly most incompatible with a civilised condition of
society. Because, to live by hunting, families must isolate
themselves from their neighbours, soon becoming estranged and
spread over widely scattered forests, to be before long on terms
of hostility, since each requires a great deal of space to obtain
food and raiment.

God’s command to Noah not to shed blood (I. _Genesis_, IX. 4-6)

[4. “But flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood
thereof, shall ye not eat.

5. And surely your blood of your lives will I require; at
the hand of every beast will I require it, and at the hand
of man; at the hand of every man’s brother will I require
the life of man.

6. Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be
shed: for in the image of God made he man.”]

is frequently quoted, and was afterwards—in another connection it
is true—made by the baptised Jews a condition to which Christians,
newly converted from heathendom, had to conform. Cf. _Acts_ XV. 20;
XXI. 25. This command seems originally to have been nothing else
than a prohibition of the life of the hunter; for here the
possibility of eating raw flesh must often occur, and, in
forbidding the one custom, we condemn the other.

Now while nature provided that men could live on all parts of the earth, she also at the same time despotically willed that they _should_ live everywhere on it, although against their own inclination and even although this imperative did not presuppose an idea of duty which would compel obedience to nature with the force of a moral law. But, to attain this end, she has chosen war. So we see certain peoples, widely separated, whose common descent is made evident by affinity in their languages. Thus, for instance, we find the Samoyedes on the Arctic Ocean, and again a people speaking a similar language on the Altai Mts., 200 miles [_Meilen_][139] off, between whom has pressed in a mounted tribe, warlike in character and of Mongolian origin, which has driven one branch of the race far from the other, into the most inhospitable regions where their own inclination would certainly not have carried them.[140] In the same way, through the intrusion of the Gothic and Sarmatian tribes, the Finns in the most northerly regions of Europe, whom we call Laplanders, have been separated by as great a distance from the Hungarians, with whose language their own is allied. And what but war can have brought the Esquimos to the north of America, a race quite distinct from those of that country and probably European adventurers of prehistoric times? And war too, nature’s method of populating the earth, must have driven the Pescherais[141] in South America as far as Patagonia. War itself, however, is in need of no special stimulating cause, but seems engrafted in human nature, and is even regarded as something noble in itself to which man is inspired by the love of glory apart from motives of self-interest. Hence, among the savages of America as well as those of Europe in the age of chivalry, martial courage is looked upon as of great value itself, not merely when a war is going on, as is reasonable enough, but in order that there should be war: and thus war is often entered upon merely to exhibit this quality. So that an intrinsic dignity is held to attach to war in itself, and even philosophers eulogise it as an ennobling, refining influence on humanity, unmindful of the Greek proverb, “War is evil, in so far as it makes more bad people than it takes away.”

[139] About 1000 English miles.

[140] The question might be put:—“If it is nature’s will that
these Arctic shores should not remain unpopulated, what will
become of their inhabitants, if, as is to be expected, at some
time or other no more driftwood should be brought to them? For
we may believe that, with the advance of civilisation, the
inhabitants of temperate zones will utilise better the wood which
grows on the banks of their rivers, and not let it fall into the
stream and so be swept away.” I answer: the inhabitants of the
shores of the River Obi, the Yenisei, the Lena will supply them
with it through trade, and take in exchange the animal produce in
which the seas of Arctic shores are so rich—that is, if nature
has first of all brought about peace among them.

[141] Cf. _Enc. Brit._ (9th ed.), art. “Indians”, in which there
is an allusion to “Fuegians, the _Pescherais_” of some writers.
[Tr.]

So much, then, of what nature does for her own ends with regard to the human race as members of the animal world. Now comes the question which touches the essential points in this design of a perpetual peace:—“What does nature do in this respect with reference to the end which man’s own reason sets before him as a duty? and consequently what does she do to further the realisation of his moral purpose? How does she guarantee that what man, by the laws of freedom, ought to do and yet fails to do, he will do, without any infringement of his freedom by the compulsion of nature and that, moreover, this shall be done in accordance with the three forms of public right—constitutional or political law, international law and cosmopolitan law?” When I say of nature that she _wills_ that this or that should take place, I do not mean that she imposes upon us the duty to do it—for only the free, unrestrained, practical reason can do that—but that she does it herself, whether we will or not. “_Fata volentem ducunt, nolentem trahunt._”

1. Even if a people were not compelled through internal discord to submit to the restraint of public laws, war would bring this about, working from without. For, according to the contrivance of nature which we have mentioned, every people finds another tribe in its neighbourhood, pressing upon it in such a manner that it is compelled to form itself internally into a state to be able to defend itself as a power should. Now the republican constitution is the only one which is perfectly adapted to the rights of man, but it is also the most difficult to establish and still more to maintain. So generally is this recognised that people often say the members of a republican state would require to be angels,[142] because men, with their self-seeking propensities, are not fit for a constitution of so sublime a form. But now nature comes to the aid of the universal, reason-derived will which, much as we honour it, is in practice powerless. And this she does, by means of these very self-seeking propensities, so that it only depends—and so much lies within the power of man—on a good organisation of the state for their forces to be so pitted against one another, that the one may check the destructive activity of the other or neutralise its effect. And hence, from the standpoint of reason, the result will be the same as if both forces did not exist, and each individual is compelled to be, if not a morally good man, yet at least a good citizen. The problem of the formation of the state, hard as it may sound, is not insoluble, even for a race of devils, granted that they have intelligence. It may be put thus:—“Given a multitude of rational beings who, in a body, require general laws for their own preservation, but each of whom, as an individual, is secretly inclined to exempt himself from this restraint: how are we to order their affairs and how establish for them a constitution such that, although their private dispositions may be really antagonistic, they may yet so act as a check upon one another, that, in their public relations, the effect is the same as if they had no such evil sentiments.” Such a problem must be capable of solution. For it deals, not with the moral reformation of mankind, but only with the mechanism of nature; and the problem is to learn how this mechanism of nature can be applied to men, in order so to regulate the antagonism of conflicting interests in a people that they may even compel one another to submit to compulsory laws and thus necessarily bring about the state of peace in which laws have force. We can see, in states actually existing, although very imperfectly organised, that, in externals, they already approximate very nearly to what the Idea of right prescribes, although the principle of morality is certainly not the cause. A good political constitution, however, is not to be expected as a result of progress in morality; but rather, conversely, the good moral condition of a nation is to be looked for, as one of the first fruits of such a constitution. Hence the mechanism of nature, working through the self-seeking propensities of man (which of course counteract one another in their external effects), may be used by reason as a means of making way for the realisation of her own purpose, the empire of right, and, as far as is in the power of the state, to promote and secure in this way internal as well as external peace. We may say, then, that it is the irresistible will of nature that right shall at last get the supremacy. What one here fails to do will be accomplished in the long run, although perhaps with much inconvenience to us. As Bouterwek says, “If you bend the reed too much it breaks: he who would do too much does nothing.”

[142] Rousseau uses these terms in speaking of democracy. (_Cont.
Soc._, III. Ch. 4.) “If there were a nation of Gods, they might
be governed by a democracy: but so perfect a government will not
agree with men.”

But he writes elsewhere of republican governments (_op. cit._,
II. Ch. 6):—“All lawful governments are republican.” And in a
footnote to this passage:—“I do not by the word ‘republic’ mean
an aristocracy or democracy only, but in general all governments
directed by the public will which is the law. If a government
is to be lawful, it must not be confused with the sovereign
power, but be considered as the administrator of that power: and
then monarchy itself is a republic.” This language has a close
affinity with that used by Kant. (Cf. above, p. 126.) [Tr.]

2. The idea of international law presupposes the separate existence of a number of neighbouring and independent states; and, although such a condition of things is in itself already a state of war, (if a federative union of these nations does not prevent the outbreak of hostilities) yet, according to the Idea of reason, this is better than that all the states should be merged into one under a power which has gained the ascendency over its neighbours and gradually become a universal monarchy.[143] For the wider the sphere of their jurisdiction, the more laws lose in force; and soulless despotism, when it has choked the seeds of good, at last sinks into anarchy. Nevertheless it is the desire of every state, or of its ruler, to attain to a permanent condition of peace in this very way; that is to say, by subjecting the whole world as far as possible to its sway. But nature wills it otherwise. She employs two means to separate nations, and prevent them from intermixing: namely, the differences of language and of religion.[144] These differences bring with them a tendency to mutual hatred, and furnish pretexts for waging war. But, none the less, with the growth of culture and the gradual advance of men to greater unanimity of principle, they lead to concord in a state of peace which, unlike the despotism we have spoken of, (the churchyard of freedom) does not arise from the weakening of all forces, but is brought into being and secured through the equilibrium of these forces in their most active rivalry.

[143] See above, p. 69, _note_, esp. reference to _Theory of
Ethics_. [Tr.]

[144] Difference of religion! A strange expression, as if one
were to speak of different kinds of morality. There may indeed be
different historical forms of belief,—that is to say, the various
means which have been used in the course of time to promote
religion,—but they are mere subjects of learned investigation,
and do not really lie within the sphere of religion. In the same
way there are many religious works—the _Zendavesta_, _Veda_,
_Koran_ etc.—but there is only one religion, binding for all
men and for all times. These books are each no more than the
accidental mouthpiece of religion, and may be different according
to differences in time and place.

3. As nature wisely separates nations which the will of each state, sanctioned even by the principles of international law, would gladly unite under its own sway by stratagem or force; in the same way, on the other hand, she unites nations whom the principle of a cosmopolitan right would not have secured against violence and war. And this union she brings about through an appeal to their mutual interests. The commercial spirit cannot co-exist with war, and sooner or later it takes possession of every nation. For, of all the forces which lie at the command of a state, the power of money is probably the most reliable. Hence states find themselves compelled—not, it is true, exactly from motives of morality—to further the noble end of peace and to avert war, by means of mediation, wherever it threatens to break out, just as if they had made a permanent league for this purpose. For great alliances with a view to war can, from the nature of things, only very rarely occur, and still more seldom succeed.

In this way nature guarantees the coming of perpetual peace, through the natural course of human propensities: not indeed with sufficient certainty to enable us to prophesy the future of this ideal theoretically, but yet clearly enough for practical purposes. And thus this guarantee of nature makes it a duty that we should labour for this end, an end which is no mere chimera.

SECOND SUPPLEMENT

A SECRET ARTICLE FOR PERPETUAL PEACE

A secret article in negotiations concerning public right is, when looked at objectively or with regard to the meaning of the term, a contradiction. When we view it, however, from the subjective standpoint, with regard to the character and condition of the person who dictates it, we see that it might quite well involve some private consideration, so that he would regard it as hazardous to his dignity to acknowledge such an article as originating from him.

The only article of this kind is contained in the following proposition:—“The opinions of philosophers, with regard to the conditions of the possibility of a public peace, shall be taken into consideration by states armed for war.”

It seems, however, to be derogatory to the dignity of the legislative authority of a state—to which we must of course attribute all wisdom—to ask advice from subjects (among whom stand philosophers) about the rules of its behaviour to other states. At the same time, it is very advisable that this should be done. Hence the state will silently invite suggestion for this purpose, while at the same time keeping the fact secret. This amounts to saying that the state will allow philosophers to discuss freely and publicly the universal principles governing the conduct of war and establishment of peace; for they will do this of their own accord, if no prohibition is laid upon them.[145] The arrangement between states, on this point, does not require that a special agreement should be made, merely for this purpose; for it is already involved in the obligation imposed by the universal reason of man which gives the moral law. We would not be understood to say that the state must give a preference to the principles of the philosopher, rather than to the opinions of the jurist, the representative of state authority; but only that he should be heard. The latter, who has chosen for a symbol the scales of right and the sword of justice,[146] generally uses that sword not merely to keep off all outside influences from the scales; for, when one pan of the balance will not go down, he throws his sword into it; and then _Væ victis_! The jurist, not being a moral philosopher, is under the greatest temptation to do this, because it is his business only to apply existing laws and not to investigate whether these are not themselves in need of improvement; and this actually lower function of his profession he looks upon as the nobler, because it is linked to power (as is the case also in both the other faculties, theology and medicine). Philosophy occupies a very low position compared with this combined power. So that it is said, for example, that she is the handmaid of theology; and the same has been said of her position with regard to law and medicine. It is not quite clear, however, “whether she bears the torch before these gracious ladies, or carries the train.”

[145] Montesquieu speaks thus in praise of the English state:—“As
the enjoyment of liberty, and even its support and preservation,
consists in every man’s being allowed to speak his thoughts and
to lay open his sentiments, a citizen in this state will say or
write whatever the laws do not expressly forbid to be said or
written.” (_Esprit des Lois_, XIX. Ch. 27.) Hobbes is opposed to
all free discussion of political questions and to freedom as a
source of danger to the state. [Tr.]

[146] Kant is thinking here not of the sword of justice, in the
moral sense, but of a sword which is symbolical of the executive
power of the actual law. [Tr.]

That kings should philosophise, or philosophers become kings, is not to be expected. But neither is it to be desired; for the possession of power is inevitably fatal to the free exercise of reason. But it is absolutely indispensable, for their enlightenment as to the full significance of their vocations, that both kings and sovereign nations, which rule themselves in accordance with laws of equality, should not allow the class of philosophers to disappear, nor forbid the expression of their opinions, but should allow them to speak openly. And since this class of men, by their very nature, are incapable of instigating rebellion or forming unions for purposes of political agitation, they should not be suspected of propagandism.