[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.