Appendix I

ON THE DISAGREEMENT BETWEEN MORALS AND POLITICS WITH REFERENCE TO PERPETUAL PEACE

ON THE CONFLICT BETWEEN MORALITY AND POLITICS IN RELATION TO LASTING PEACE

In an objective sense, morals is a practical science, as the sum of laws exacting unconditional obedience, in accordance with which we ought to act. Now, once we have admitted the authority of this idea of duty, it is evidently inconsistent that we should think of saying that we cannot act thus. For, in this case, the idea of duty falls to the ground of itself; “ultra posse nemo obligatur.” Hence there can be no quarrel between politics, as the practical science of right, and morals, which is also a science of right, but theoretical. That is, theory cannot come into conflict with practice. For, in that case, we would need to understand under the term “ethics” or “morals” a universal doctrine of expediency, or, in other words, a theory of precepts which may guide us in choosing the best means for attaining ends calculated for our advantage. This is to deny that a science of morals exists.

Objectively understood, morality is a practical science: the body of laws demanding unconditional obedience, according to which we ought to act. Once we accept the authority of this idea of duty, we clearly contradict ourselves by saying we cannot act accordingly. For if we cannot, the idea of duty itself collapses: “no one is obliged to do what they cannot do.” So there can be no conflict between politics, the practical science of right, and morality, the theoretical science of right. In other words, theory cannot conflict with practice. For if such a conflict existed, “ethics” or “morality” would have to mean a general doctrine of expediency. Morality would then be a theory of rules for choosing the best means to achieve goals intended to benefit us. Such a view denies that a science of morality exists.

Politics says, “Be wise as serpents”; morals adds the limiting condition, “and guileless as doves.” If these precepts cannot stand together in one command, then there is a real quarrel between politics and morals.¹⁴⁷ But if they can be completely brought into accord, then the idea of any antagonism between them is absurd, and the question of how best to make a compromise between the two points of view ceases to be even raised. Although the saying, “Honesty is the best policy,” expresses a theory which, alas, is often contradicted in practice, yet the likewise theoretical maxim, “Honesty is better than any policy,” is exalted high above every possible objection, is indeed the necessary condition of all politics.

Politics says, “Be wise as serpents.” Morality adds a limit: “and innocent as doves.” If these commands cannot be followed together, then politics and morality are truly in conflict.¹⁴⁷ But if these commands can be fully reconciled, then the idea of any conflict between politics and morality is absurd. There is then no need even to ask how best to compromise between the two viewpoints. Although “Honesty is the best policy” states a theory, practice, sadly, often contradicts that theory. Yet the equally theoretical principle, “Honesty is better than any policy,” stands above every possible objection. Indeed, honesty is a necessary condition of all politics.

The Terminus of morals does not yield to Jupiter, the Terminus of force; for the latter remains beneath the sway of Fate. In other words, reason is not sufficiently enlightened to survey the series of predetermining causes which would make it possible for us to predict with certainty the good or bad results of human action, as they follow from the mechanical laws of nature; although we may hope that things will turn out as we should desire. But what we have to do, in order to remain in the path of duty guided by the rules of wisdom, reason makes everywhere perfectly clear, and does this for the purpose of furthering her ultimate ends.

The Terminus of morality does not yield to Jupiter, the Terminus of force, because Jupiter remains subject to Fate. In other words, reason lacks the insight to trace the chain of causes that determine events. Such insight would let us predict with certainty the good or bad consequences of human actions under nature’s mechanical laws. Still, we may hope that events will turn out as we wish. But reason always makes perfectly clear what we must do to follow our duty, guided by wisdom’s rules. Reason provides this clarity to advance its ultimate aims.

The practical man, however, for whom morals is mere theory, even while admitting that what ought to be can be, bases his dreary verdict against our well-meant hopes really on this: he pretends that he can foresee from his observation of human nature, that men will never be willing to do what is required in order to bring about the wished-for results leading to perpetual peace. It is true that the will of all individual men to live under a legal constitution according to the principles of liberty—that is to say, the distributive unity of the wills of all—is not sufficient to attain this end. We must have the collective unity of their united will: all as a body must determine these new conditions. The solution of this difficult problem is required in order that civil society should be a whole. To all this diversity of individual wills there must come a uniting cause, in order to produce a common will which no distributive will is able to give. Hence, in the practical realisation of that idea, no other beginning of a law-governed society can be counted upon than one that is brought about by force: upon this force, too, public law afterwards rests. This state of things certainly prepares us to meet considerable deviation in actual experience from the theoretical idea of perpetual peace, since we cannot take into account the moral character and disposition of a law-giver in this connection, or expect that, after he has united a wild multitude into one people, he will leave it to them to bring about a legal constitution by their common will.

The practical man, however, treats morality as mere theory, even while admitting that what ought to happen can happen. His gloomy judgment against our well-meant hopes really rests on the following claim. He pretends that observing human nature lets him foresee that people will never willingly do what perpetual peace requires. It is true that every individual’s desire to live under a legal constitution based on freedom is not enough. This agreement among separate wills cannot achieve perpetual peace. We also need their wills to unite into a collective will: everyone together must establish these new conditions. This difficult problem must be solved for civil society to form a whole. These diverse individual wills need a unifying cause to produce a common will. No collection of separate wills can provide that cause. So, in putting this idea into practice, we can count on only one beginning for a law-governed society. That beginning must be brought about by force, and public law later rests on that force as well. These circumstances certainly prepare us for considerable differences between actual experience and the theoretical idea of perpetual peace. For we cannot count on the moral character and intentions of a lawgiver here. Nor can we expect him, after uniting an unruly multitude into one people, to leave the next step to them. We cannot expect him to let them establish a legal constitution through their common will.

It amounts to this. Any ruler who has once got the power in his hands will not let the people dictate laws for him. A state which enjoys an independence of the control of external law will not submit to the judgment of the tribunals of other states, when it has to consider how to obtain its rights against them. And even a continent, when it feels its superiority to another, whether this be in its way or not, will not fail to take advantage of an opportunity offered of strengthening its power by the spoliation or even conquest of this territory. Hence all theoretical schemes, connected with constitutional, international or cosmopolitan law, crumble away into empty impracticable ideals. While, on the other hand, a practical science, based on the empirical principles of human nature, which does not disdain to model its maxims on an observation of actual life, can alone hope to find a sure foundation on which to build up a system of national policy.

It comes down to this. Once a ruler has gained power, he will not let the people dictate laws to him. A state free from outside legal control will not accept the judgment of other states’ courts when seeking to assert its rights against them. Even a continent that feels superior to another will seize any chance to strengthen its power by plundering or conquering that territory. Whether the other continent stands in its way or not makes no difference. So all theoretical plans concerning constitutional, international, or cosmopolitan law collapse into empty ideals that cannot be put into practice. By contrast, only a practical science based on observed human nature can hope to provide a firm foundation for national policy. Such a science does not consider it beneath itself to shape its principles by observing real life.

Now certainly, if there is neither freedom nor a moral law founded upon it, and every actual or possible event happens in the mere mechanical course of nature, then politics, as the art of making use of this physical necessity in things for the government of men, is the whole of practical wisdom and the idea of right is an empty concept. If, on the other hand, we find that this idea of right is necessarily to be conjoined with politics and even to be raised to the position of a limiting condition of that science, then the possibility of reconciling them must be admitted. I can thus imagine a moral politician, that is to say, one who understands the principles of statesmanship to be such as do not conflict with morals; but I cannot conceive of a political moralist who fashions for himself such a system of ethics as may serve the interest of statesmen.

Suppose there is no freedom and no moral law based on freedom. Suppose every actual or possible event follows only the mechanical course of nature. Then politics is certainly the whole of practical wisdom, and the idea of right is an empty concept. Politics here means the art of using nature’s physical necessity to govern people. But suppose we find that the idea of right must be joined with politics and must even limit politics. Then we must admit that politics and right can be reconciled. So I can imagine a moral politician, someone who understands that the principles of government must not conflict with morality. But I cannot imagine a political moralist who designs a system of ethics to serve the interests of statesmen.

The moral politician will always act upon the following principle:—“If certain defects which could not have been avoided are found in the political constitution or foreign relations of a state, it is a duty for all, especially for the rulers of the state, to apply their whole energy to correcting them as soon as possible, and to bringing the constitution and political relations on these points into conformity with the Law of Nature, as it is held up as a model before us in the idea of reason; and this they should do even at a sacrifice of their own interest.” Now it is contrary to all politics—which is, in this particular, in agreement with morals—to dissever any of the links binding citizens together in the state or nations in cosmopolitan union, before a better constitution is there to take the place of what has been thus destroyed. And hence it would be absurd indeed to demand that every imperfection in political matters must be violently altered on the spot. But, at the same time, it may be required of a ruler at least that he should earnestly keep the maxim in mind which points to the necessity of such a change; so that he may go on constantly approaching the end to be realised, namely, the best possible constitution according to the laws of right. Even although it is still under despotic rule, in accordance with its constitution as then existing, a state may govern itself on republican lines, until the people gradually become capable of being influenced by the mere idea of the authority of law, just as if it had physical power. And they become accordingly capable of self-legislation, their faculty for which is founded on original right. But if, through the violence of revolution, the product of a bad government, a constitution more in accord with the spirit of law were attained even by unlawful means, it should no longer be held justifiable to bring the people back to the old constitution, although, while the revolution was going on, every one who took part in it by use of force or stratagem, may have been justly punished as a rebel. As regards the external relations of nations, a state cannot be asked to give up its constitution, even although that be a despotism (which is, at the same time, the strongest constitution where foreign enemies are concerned), so long as it runs the risk of being immediately swallowed up by other states. Hence, when such a proposal is made, the state whose constitution is in question must at least be allowed to defer acting upon it until a more convenient time.¹⁴⁸

The moral politician will always follow this principle: “Suppose unavoidable defects are found in a state’s constitution or foreign relations. Everyone, especially the state’s rulers, has a duty to devote all their energy to correcting these defects as soon as possible. They must bring the constitution and political relations into line with the Law of Nature on these points. Reason presents this law to us as a model. They must do this even at the cost of their own interests.” Now, sound politics forbids breaking any bonds uniting citizens within a state or nations within a worldwide union before a better constitution is ready to replace what is destroyed. On this point, politics agrees with morality. It would therefore be absurd to demand that every political imperfection be forcibly changed at once. But a ruler may at least be required to keep firmly in mind the principle that such change is necessary. The ruler can then keep moving toward the goal: the best possible constitution under the laws of right. Even under a despotic constitution, a state may govern itself along republican lines. It may do so until the people gradually become capable of responding to the mere idea of law’s authority. They would respond as if that authority had physical force. The people thus become capable of making their own laws, a capacity grounded in their original right. But suppose a violent revolution, caused by bad government, produces a constitution more consistent with the spirit of law. Even if that constitution was achieved unlawfully, restoring the old constitution should no longer be considered justified. Yet during the revolution, everyone who participated through force or deception could justly have been punished as a rebel. As for relations between nations, a state cannot be asked to abandon its constitution, even if it is despotic. This holds as long as the state risks being immediately swallowed up by other states. A despotic constitution is also the strongest constitution for dealing with foreign enemies. Therefore, when such a proposal is made, the state must at least be allowed to postpone action until a more suitable time.¹⁴⁸

It is always possible that moralists who rule despotically, and are at a loss in practical matters, will come into collision with the rules of political wisdom in many ways, by adopting measures without sufficient deliberation which show themselves afterwards to have been overestimated. When they thus offend against nature, experience must gradually lead them into a better track. But, instead of this being the case, politicians who are fond of moralising do all they can to make moral improvement impossible and to perpetuate violations of law, by extenuating political principles which are antagonistic to the idea of right, on the pretext that human nature is not capable of good, in the sense of the ideal which reason prescribes.

Moralists who rule despotically and lack practical judgment may clash in many ways with the rules of sound political judgment. Such rulers may adopt measures without enough thought, only to discover later that they expected too much from those measures. When these rulers act against nature in this way, experience must gradually guide them toward a better course. But politicians who like to moralize do all they can to prevent moral improvement and keep violations of law going. These politicians excuse political principles that conflict with the idea of right. Their pretext is that human nature cannot achieve goodness as defined by the ideal that reason sets out.

These politicians, instead of adopting an open, straightforward way of doing things (as they boast), mix themselves up in intrigue. They get at the authorities in power and say what will please them; their sole bent is to sacrifice the nation, or even, if they can, the whole world, with the one end in view that their own private interest may be forwarded. This is the manner of regular jurists (I mean the journeyman lawyer not the legislator), when they aspire to politics. For, as it is not their business to reason too nicely over legislation, but only to enforce the laws of the country, every legal constitution in its existing form and, when this is changed by the proper authorities, the one which takes its place, will always seem to them the best possible. And the consequence is that everything is purely mechanical. But this adroitness in suiting themselves to any circumstances may lead them to the delusion that they are also capable of giving an opinion about the principles of political constitutions in general, in so far as they conform to ideas of right, and are therefore not empirical, but a priori. And they may therefore brag about their knowledge of men,—which indeed one expects to find, since they have to deal with so many—without really knowing the nature of man and what can be made of it, to gain which knowledge a higher standpoint of anthropological observation than theirs is required. Filled with ideas of this kind, if they trespass outside their own sphere on the boundaries of political and international law, looked upon as ideals which reason holds before us, they can do so only in the spirit of chicanery. For they will follow their usual method of making everything conform mechanically to compulsory laws despotically made and enforced, even here, where the ideas of reason recognise the validity of a legal compulsory force, only when it is in accordance with the principles of freedom through which a permanently valid constitution becomes first of all possible. The would-be practical man, leaving out of account this idea of reason, thinks that he can solve this problem empirically by looking to the way in which those constitutions which have best survived the test of time were established, even although the spirit of these may have been generally contrary to the idea of right. The principles which he makes use of here, although indeed he does not make them public, amount pretty much to the following sophistical maxims.

These politicians boast of acting openly and straightforwardly, but instead they become entangled in intrigue. They approach those in power and tell them what they want to hear. Their sole aim is to advance their private interests by sacrificing the nation, or even, if possible, the whole world. This is how ordinary legal professionals behave when they venture into politics. I mean practicing lawyers, not lawmakers. Their job is not to examine legislation too closely, but only to enforce the country's laws. So they always regard the existing legal constitution as the best possible one. And when the proper authorities replace that constitution, they regard its replacement as the best possible one. As a result, everything becomes purely mechanical. But their skill at adapting to any circumstances may lead these lawyers into a delusion. They may imagine themselves qualified to judge the principles of political constitutions in general. These principles concern how constitutions conform to ideas of right, and are therefore not empirical, but a priori. They may therefore boast of their knowledge of people. Indeed, we would expect such knowledge, since they deal with so many people. Yet they do not really understand human nature or what can be made of it. That understanding requires a broader perspective on human beings than theirs. With such notions, these lawyers may stray beyond their own field into constitutional and international law. Here, these fields are understood as ideals that reason sets before us. If these lawyers venture into this territory, they can do so only in a spirit of legal trickery. For even here, they follow their usual method of making everything fit mechanically with coercive laws, despotically made and enforced. Yet here reason recognizes lawful coercion as valid only when it accords with the principles of freedom. Only those principles make a permanently valid constitution possible in the first place. The supposedly practical man ignores this idea of reason. He thinks he can solve this problem through experience. He looks at how the constitutions that have best stood the test of time were established. Yet the spirit of those constitutions may have been generally opposed to the idea of right. The principles he uses here, though he does not make them public, amount to roughly the following deceptive maxims.

1. Fac et excusa. Seize the most favourable opportunity for arbitrary usurpation—either of the authority of the state over its own people or over a neighbouring people; the justification of the act and extenuation of the use of force will come much more easily and gracefully, when the deed is done, than if one has to think out convincing reasons for taking this step and first hear through all the objections which can be made against it. This is especially true in the first case mentioned, where the supreme power in the state also controls the legislature which we must obey without any reasoning about it. Besides, this show of audacity in a statesman even lends him a certain semblance of inward conviction of the justice of his action; and once he has got so far the god of success (bonus eventus) is his best advocate.

1. Fac et excusa. Seize the best opportunity to take power without right, either over the state's own people or over a neighboring people. Once the deed is done, justifying the act and downplaying the use of force will be much easier and smoother. The alternative is to devise convincing reasons beforehand and first hear out all possible objections. This is especially true when taking power over the state's own people. In that case, the state's supreme power also controls the legislature, which we must obey without question. Besides, such boldness even makes a statesman appear inwardly convinced that his action is just. And once he has gone that far, the god of success (bonus eventus) is his best defender.

2. Si fecisti, nega. As for any crime you have committed, such as has, for instance, brought your people to despair and thence to insurrection, deny that it has happened owing to any fault of yours. Say rather that it is all caused by the insubordination of your subjects, or, in the case of your having usurped a neighbouring state, that human nature is to blame; for, if a man is not ready to use force and steal a march upon his neighbour, he may certainly count on the latter forestalling him and taking him prisoner.

2. Si fecisti, nega. Whatever crime you have committed, deny that you were at fault. For example, your crime may have driven your people to despair and then to rebellion. Say instead that your subjects’ disobedience caused it all. Or, if you have seized a neighboring state, blame human nature. For if a man is not ready to use force and strike before his neighbor does, he can be certain of the outcome. His neighbor will act first and take him prisoner.

3. Divide et impera. That is to say, if there are certain privileged persons, holding authority among the people, who have merely chosen you for their sovereign as primus inter pares, bring about a quarrel among them, and make mischief between them and the people. Now back up the people with a dazzling promise of greater freedom; everything will now depend unconditionally on your will. Or again, if there is a difficulty with foreign states, then to stir up dissension among them is a pretty sure means of subjecting first one and then the other to your sway, under the pretext of aiding the weaker.

3. Divide et impera. In other words, suppose certain privileged people hold authority among the people. They have chosen you as their ruler, but only as first among equals. If so, provoke a quarrel among them, and stir up trouble between them and the people. Then back the people with a dazzling promise of greater freedom. Everything will then depend entirely on your will. Or, if you face trouble with foreign states, stirring up conflict among them is a fairly reliable strategy. You can bring first one state, then another under your control, under the pretext of helping the weaker state.

It is true that now-a-days no body is taken in by these political maxims, for they are all familiar to everyone. Moreover, there is no need of being ashamed of them, as if their injustice were too patent. For the great Powers never feel shame before the judgment of the common herd, but only before one another; so that as far as this matter goes, it is not the revelation of these guiding principles of policy that can make rulers ashamed, but only the unsuccessful use of them. For as to the morality of these maxims, politicians are all agreed. Hence there is always left political prestige on which they can safely count; and this means the glory of increasing their power by any means that offer.¹⁴⁹

It is true that nowadays no one is fooled by these political maxims, since everyone knows them all. Nor is there any need to be ashamed of them, as if their injustice were too obvious. For the great Powers never feel shame before the judgment of ordinary people, but only before one another. So rulers cannot be shamed by the exposure of these guiding principles of policy, only by using them unsuccessfully. For politicians all agree about the morality of these maxims. So they can always safely count on political prestige: the glory of increasing their power by any available means.¹⁴⁹

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In all these twistings and turnings of an immoral doctrine of expediency which aims at substituting a state of peace for the warlike conditions in which men are placed by nature, so much at least is clear;—that men cannot get away from the idea of right in their private any more than in their public relations; and that they do not dare (this is indeed most strikingly seen in the concept of an international law) to base politics merely on the manipulations of expediency and therefore to refuse all obedience to the idea of a public right. On the contrary, they pay all fitting honour to the idea of right in itself, even although they should, at the same time, devise a hundred subterfuges and excuses to avoid it in practice, and should regard force, backed up by cunning, as having the authority which comes from being the source and unifying principle of all right. It will be well to put an end to this sophistry, if not to the injustice it extenuates, and to bring the false advocates of the mighty of the earth to confess that it is not right but might in whose interest they speak, and that it is the worship of might from which they take their cue, as if in this matter they had a right to command. In order to do this, we must first expose the delusion by which they deceive themselves and others; then discover the ultimate principle from which their plans for a perpetual peace proceed; and thence show that all the evil which stands in the way of the realisation of that ideal springs from the fact that the political moralist begins where the moral politician rightly ends and that, by subordinating principles to an end or putting the cart before the horse, he defeats his intention of bringing politics into harmony with morals.

This immoral doctrine of expediency twists and turns as it seeks to replace humanity’s natural state of war with peace. Yet at least this much is clear: people cannot escape the idea of right in private or public relations. Nor do they dare base politics solely on expedient maneuvering and therefore reject all obedience to public right. This reluctance is especially striking in the very concept of international law. On the contrary, they give the idea of right itself all due respect. They do so even while devising a hundred evasions and excuses to avoid following it in practice. They may also treat force, backed by cunning, as the source and unifying principle of all right. They then grant force the authority that comes with that status. We should put an end to this false reasoning, even if we cannot end the injustice it excuses. We should make these dishonest defenders of the world’s powerful admit that they speak for might, not right. Their worship of might guides them, as if they had a right to command in this matter. To do this, we must first expose the illusion through which they deceive themselves and others. Then we must uncover the ultimate principle behind their plans for perpetual peace. From there, we must show where all the evil obstructing that ideal comes from. The political moralist begins where the moral politician rightly ends. By making principles serve an end, or putting the cart before the horse, the political moralist defeats his own purpose. He fails in his aim of bringing politics into harmony with morality.

In order to make practical philosophy consistent with itself, we must first decide the following question:—In dealing with the problems of practical reason must we begin from its material principle—the end as the object of free choice—or from its formal principle which is based merely on freedom in its external relation?—from which comes the following law:—“Act so that thou canst will that thy maxim should be a universal law, be the end of thy action what it will.”¹⁵⁰

To make practical philosophy consistent with itself, we must first settle the following question. When addressing problems of practical reason, must we begin with its material principle, the goal freely chosen? Or must we begin with its formal principle, based only on freedom in its external relations? The formal principle gives us this law: “Act so that you can will your guiding principle to become a universal law, whatever your action’s goal.”¹⁵⁰

Without doubt, the latter determining principle of action must stand first; for, as a principle of right, it carries unconditional necessity with it, whereas the former is obligatory only if we assume the empirical conditions of the end set before us,—that is to say, that it is an end capable of being practically realised. And if this end—as, for example, the end of perpetual peace—should be also a duty, this same duty must necessarily have been deduced from the formal principle governing the maxims which guide external action. Now the first principle is the principle of the political moralist; the problems of constitutional, international and cosmopolitan law are mere technical problems (problema technicum). The second or formal principle, on the other hand, as the principle of the moral politician who regards it as a moral problem (problema morale), differs widely from the other principle in its methods of bringing about perpetual peace, which we desire not only as a material good, but also as a state of things resulting from our recognition of the precepts of duty.¹⁵¹

Without doubt, the latter guiding principle of action must come first. As a principle of right, it is unconditionally binding. The former principle, however, is binding only if we assume the practical conditions needed to achieve our chosen goal. In other words, we must assume that the goal can actually be achieved. And if this goal is also a duty, as perpetual peace might be, that duty must have a necessary basis. It must follow from the formal principle governing the rules that guide our outward actions. Now the first principle belongs to the political moralist. For the political moralist, questions of constitutional, international, and cosmopolitan law are merely technical problems (problema technicum). The second, or formal, principle, by contrast, belongs to the moral politician, who treats these questions as a moral problem (problema morale). The two principles differ greatly in their methods of achieving perpetual peace. We desire perpetual peace not only as a material good, but also as a condition arising from recognizing duty’s commands.¹⁵¹

To solve the first problem—that, namely, of political expediency—much knowledge of nature is required, that her mechanical laws may be employed for the end in view. And yet the result of all knowledge of this kind is uncertain, as far as perpetual peace is concerned. This we find to be so, whichever of the three departments of public law we take. It is uncertain whether a people could be better kept in obedience and at the same time prosperity by severity or by baits held out to their vanity; whether they would be better governed under the sovereignty of a single individual or by the authority of several acting together; whether the combined authority might be better secured merely, say, by an official nobility or by the power of the people within the state; and, finally, whether such conditions could be long maintained. There are examples to the contrary in history in the case of all forms of government, with the exception of the only true republican constitution, the idea of which can occur only to a moral politician. Still more uncertain is a law of nations, ostensibly established upon statutes devised by ministers; for this amounts in fact to mere empty words, and rests on treaties which, in the very act of ratification, contain a secret reservation of the right to violate them. On the other hand, the solution of the second problem—the problem of political wisdom—forces itself, we may say, upon us; it is quite obvious to every one, and puts all crooked dealings to shame; it leads, too, straight to the desired end, while at the same time, discretion warns us not to drag in the conditions of perpetual peace by force, but to take time and approach this ideal gradually as favourable circumstances permit.

Solving the first problem, the problem of political expediency, requires extensive knowledge of nature. We need this knowledge to use nature’s mechanical laws for the intended goal. Yet all such knowledge leaves the prospects for perpetual peace uncertain. This uncertainty remains whichever of the three branches of public law we consider. Could a people be kept obedient and prosperous more effectively through harsh treatment or through appeals to their vanity? Would they be better governed by a single ruler or by several people acting together? Would this shared authority be more secure if supported, say, only by an official nobility or by popular power within the state? Finally, could such conditions last long? The answers are uncertain. History provides counterexamples for every form of government except the only truly republican constitution. Only a moral politician can conceive of such a constitution. Even more uncertain is a law of nations supposedly founded on rules drawn up by ministers. Such a law amounts, in fact, to nothing but empty words. It rests on treaties that, even as they are ratified, contain a secret reservation of the right to break them. By contrast, the solution to the second problem, the problem of political wisdom, practically forces itself upon us. The solution is obvious to everyone and puts all dishonest dealings to shame. It also leads directly to the desired goal. At the same time, prudence warns us not to force the conditions for perpetual peace into existence. Instead, we should take our time and approach this ideal gradually, as favorable circumstances allow.

This may be expressed in the following maxim:—“Seek ye first the kingdom of pure practical reason and its righteousness, and the object of your endeavour, the blessing of perpetual peace, will be added unto you.” For the science of morals generally has this peculiarity,—and it has it also with regard to the moral principles of public law, and therefore with regard to a science of politics knowable a priori,—that the less it makes a man’s conduct depend on the end he has set before him, his purposed material or moral gain, so much the more, nevertheless, does it conform in general to this end. The reason for this is that it is just the universal will, given a priori, which exists in a people or in the relation of different peoples to one another, that alone determines what is lawful among men. This union of individual wills, however, if we proceed consistently in practice, in observance of the mechanical laws of nature, may be at the same time the cause of bringing about the result intended and practically realizing the idea of right. Hence it is, for example, a principle of moral politics that a people should unite into a state according to the only valid concepts of right, the ideas of freedom and equality; and this principle is not based on expediency, but upon duty. Political moralists, however, do not deserve a hearing, much and sophistically as they may reason about the existence, in a multitude of men forming a society, of certain natural tendencies which would weaken those principles and defeat their intention. They may endeavour to prove their assertion by giving instances of badly organised constitutions, chosen both from ancient and modern times, (as, for example, democracies without a representative system); but such arguments are to be treated with contempt, all the more, because a pernicious theory of this kind may perhaps even bring about the evil which it prophesies. For, in accordance with such reasoning, man is thrown into a class with all other living machines which only require the consciousness that they are not free creatures to make them in their own judgment the most miserable of all beings.

This can be expressed in the following maxim: “Seek first the kingdom of pure practical reason and its righteousness. Then the goal you seek, the blessing of perpetual peace, will be given to you as well.” For moral science in general has a distinctive feature. The same feature applies to the moral principles of public law, and therefore to a science of politics knowable a priori. The less moral science makes a person’s conduct depend on an intended goal, the more that conduct generally serves the goal. This holds whether the intended gain is material or moral. The reason is that only the universal will, given a priori, determines what is lawful among human beings. This will exists within a people or in the relations between different peoples. Yet this union of individual wills may also bring about the intended result and put the idea of right into practice. This can happen if we act consistently in practice, while observing nature’s mechanical laws. Thus, one principle of moral politics requires a people to unite into a state according to the only valid concepts of right. These are the ideas of freedom and equality. This principle rests not on practical advantage but on duty. Political moralists, however, do not deserve a hearing, however much they argue with deceptive cleverness. They claim that people living together in society have certain natural tendencies that would weaken those principles and defeat their purpose. They may try to prove this claim with examples of badly organized constitutions from both ancient and modern times. (One example is democracies without a representative system.) But such arguments deserve contempt, especially because this harmful theory may perhaps even bring about the evil it predicts. For this reasoning places human beings in the same category as all other living machines. These human machines need only become aware that they are not free creatures to consider themselves the most miserable of all beings.

Fiat justitia, pereat mundus. This saying has become proverbial, and although it savours a little of boastfulness, is also true. We may translate it thus:—“Let justice rule on earth, although all the rogues in the world should go to the bottom.” It is a good, honest principle of right cutting off all the crooked ways made by knavery or violence. It must not, however, be misunderstood as allowing anyone to exercise his own rights with the utmost severity, a course in contradiction to our moral duty; but we must take it to signify an obligation, binding upon rulers, to refrain from refusing to yield anyone his rights or from curtailing them, out of personal feeling or sympathy for others. For this end, in particular, we require, firstly, that a state should have an internal political constitution, established according to the pure principles of right; secondly, that a union should be formed between this state and neighbouring or distant nations for a legal settlement of their differences, after the analogy of the universal state. This proposition means nothing more than this:—Political maxims must not start from the idea of a prosperity and happiness which are to be expected from observance of such precepts in every state; that is, not from the end which each nation makes the object of its will as the highest empirical principle of political wisdom; but they must set out from the pure concept of the duty of right, from the “ought” whose principle is given a priori through pure reason. This is the law, whatever the material consequences may be. The world will certainly not perish by any means, because the number of wicked people in it is becoming fewer. The morally bad has one peculiarity, inseparable from its nature;—in its purposes, especially in relation to other evil influences, it is in contradiction with itself, and counteracts its own natural effect, and thus makes room for the moral principle of good, although advance in this direction may be slow.

Fiat justitia, pereat mundus. This saying has become proverbial. Although it sounds a little boastful, it is also true. We may translate it as follows: “Let justice rule on earth, even if all the world’s rogues should go under.” It is a good, honest principle of right that rules out all the crooked paths of deceit or violence. But the principle must not be understood as permission to enforce one’s own rights with the utmost harshness. Such conduct would contradict our moral duty. Instead, the principle places an obligation on rulers. They must not deny or limit anyone’s rights because of personal feelings or sympathy for others. To achieve this, we need two things in particular. First, a state must have an internal political constitution based on pure principles of right. Second, the state must form a union with neighboring or distant nations to settle their differences through law. This union must follow the model of a universal state. The proposition means only this: political principles must not begin with the prosperity and happiness expected from following them in every state. In other words, they must not begin with the goal each nation sets itself. Each nation treats that goal as the highest principle of political wisdom based on experience. Instead, political principles must begin with the pure concept of our duty to uphold right. They must begin with the “ought” whose principle pure reason supplies a priori. This is the law, whatever the practical consequences may be. The world will certainly not perish because the number of wicked people in it is decreasing. Moral evil has one feature inseparable from its nature. Its aims contradict one another, especially when they encounter other evil influences. Evil thus works against its own natural effects and makes room for the moral principle of good. Progress toward good may, however, be slow.

Hence objectively, in theory, there is no quarrel between morals and politics. But subjectively, in the self-seeking tendencies of men (which we cannot actually call their morality, as we would a course of action based on maxims of reason,) this disagreement in principle exists and may always survive; for it serves as a whetstone to virtue. According to the principle, Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito, the true courage of virtue in the present case lies not so much in facing the evils and self-sacrifices which must be met here as in firmly confronting the evil principle in our own nature and conquering its wiles. For this is a principle far more dangerous, false, treacherous and sophistical which puts forward the weakness in human nature as a justification for every transgression.

So objectively, in theory, there is no conflict between morality and politics. But subjectively, in human selfish tendencies, this conflict of principle exists and may always persist. We cannot really call these tendencies moral, as we would actions based on rational principles. Yet this conflict helps sharpen virtue. According to the principle, Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito, virtue’s true courage here lies elsewhere. It lies less in facing the evils and sacrifices we must endure. Rather, it lies in firmly confronting the evil principle in our own nature and overcoming its tricks. For this principle is far more dangerous, false, treacherous, and deceptive in its reasoning. It presents human weakness as an excuse for every wrongdoing.

In fact the political moralist may say that a ruler and people, or nation and nation do one another no wrong, when they enter on a war with violence or cunning, although they do wrong, generally speaking, in refusing to respect the idea of right which alone could establish peace for all time. For, as both are equally wrongly disposed to one another, each transgressing the duty he owes to his neighbour, they are both quite rightly served, when they are thus destroyed in war. This mutual destruction stops short at the point of extermination, so that there are always enough of the race left to keep this game going on through all the ages, and a far-off posterity may take warning by them. The Providence that orders the course of the world is hereby justified. For the moral principle in mankind never becomes extinguished, and human reason, fitted for the practical realisation of ideas of right according to that principle, grows continually in fitness for that purpose with the ever advancing march of culture; while at the same time, it must be said, the guilt of transgression increases as well. But it seems that, by no theodicy or vindication of the justice of God, can we justify Creation in putting such a race of corrupt creatures into the world at all, if, that is, we assume that the human race neither will nor can ever be in a happier condition than it is now. This standpoint, however, is too high a one for us to judge from, or to theorise, with the limited concepts we have at our command, about the wisdom of that supreme Power which is unknowable by us. We are inevitably driven to such despairing conclusions as these, if we do not admit that the pure principles of right have objective reality—that is to say, are capable of being practically realised—and consequently that action must be taken on the part of the people of a state and, further, by states in relation to one another, whatever arguments empirical politics may bring forward against this course. Politics in the real sense cannot take a step forward without first paying homage to the principles of morals. And, although politics, per se, is a difficult art,¹⁵² in its union with morals no art is required; for in the case of a conflict arising between the two sciences, the moralist can cut asunder the knot which politics is unable to untie. Right must be held sacred by man, however great the cost and sacrifice to the ruling power. Here is no half-and-half course. We cannot devise a happy medium between right and expediency, a right pragmatically conditioned. But all politics must bend the knee to the principle of right, and may, in that way, hope to reach, although slowly perhaps, a level whence it may shine upon men for all time.

In fact, the political moralist may say that rulers and peoples, or nations, do one another no wrong by going to war through violence or cunning. Yet they do wrong in a broader sense by refusing to respect the idea of right. That idea alone could establish lasting peace. For both sides are equally hostile to each other, and each violates its duty to its neighbor. So both get what they deserve when they are destroyed in war. This mutual destruction stops short of extermination. Enough of the human race always survives to keep this game going through the ages. And distant generations may learn a warning from their example. The Providence that directs the course of the world is justified in this way. For humanity’s moral principle never dies out. Human reason can put ideas of right into practice according to that principle. As culture steadily advances, reason becomes ever better equipped for this task. At the same time, however, the guilt of wrongdoing also increases. But no theodicy, or defense of God’s justice, seems able to justify Creation for bringing such corrupt creatures into the world. This is so if we assume humanity neither will nor can ever enjoy a happier condition than the present one. Yet that standpoint is too far above us to serve as a basis for judgment. Our limited concepts cannot support theories about the wisdom of that supreme Power, which we cannot know. We are inevitably driven to such despairing conclusions unless we accept that the pure principles of right have objective reality. In other words, those principles can be put into practice. Consequently, the people of a state must act on those principles, as must states in their dealings with one another. They must do so whatever arguments politics based on experience may offer against this course. Politics in the true sense cannot take a single step without first honoring moral principles. And although politics, in itself, is a difficult art,¹⁵² combining politics with morality requires no special skill. For when these two fields conflict, the moralist can cut the knot that politics cannot untie. People must hold right sacred, however great the cost and sacrifice to those in power. There is no halfway course here. We cannot devise a happy compromise between right and expediency, making right depend on practical convenience. Instead, all politics must bow to the principle of right. By doing so, politics may hope to rise, perhaps slowly, to a level from which it can illuminate humanity forever.