Second Section

CONTAINING THE DEFINITIVE ARTICLES OF A PERPETUAL PEACE BETWEEN STATES

CONTAINING THE FINAL ARTICLES FOR LASTING PEACE BETWEEN STATES

A state of peace among men who live side by side is not the natural state (status naturalis), which is rather to be described as a state of war:¹¹⁶ that is to say, although there is not perhaps always actual open hostility, yet there is a constant threatening that an outbreak may occur. Thus the state of peace must be established.¹¹⁷ For the mere cessation of hostilities is no guarantee of continued peaceful relations, and unless this guarantee is given by every individual to his neighbour—which can only be done in a state of society regulated by law—one man is at liberty to challenge another and treat him as an enemy.¹¹⁸

Peace among people living side by side is not the natural state (status naturalis). The natural state is better described as a state of war:¹¹⁶ perhaps there is not always open hostility. Yet there is a constant threat that hostilities may break out. So peace must be established.¹¹⁷ Simply ending hostilities does not guarantee that peaceful relations will continue. Each person must give this guarantee to their neighbor, and only a society governed by law makes that possible. Unless this guarantee is given, one person is free to challenge another and treat them as an enemy.¹¹⁸

FIRST DEFINITIVE ARTICLE OF PERPETUAL PEACE

FIRST DEFINITIVE ARTICLE OF LASTING PEACE

I.—“The civil constitution of each state shall be republican.”

I. “Every state must have a republican constitution.”

The only constitution which has its origin in the idea of the original contract, upon which the lawful legislation of every nation must be based, is the republican.¹¹⁹ It is a constitution, in the first place, founded in accordance with the principle of the freedom of the members of society as human beings: secondly, in accordance with the principle of the dependence of all, as subjects, on a common legislation: and, thirdly, in accordance with the law of the equality of the members as citizens. It is then, looking at the question of right, the only constitution whose fundamental principles lie at the basis of every form of civil constitution. And the only question for us now is, whether it is also the one constitution which can lead to perpetual peace.

Only a republican constitution is based on the idea of the original contract. Every nation’s laws must be based on this contract to be lawful.¹¹⁹ A republican constitution rests on three principles. First, all members of society are free as human beings. Second, all members, as subjects, are bound by the same laws. Third, all members are equal as citizens. So, in terms of right, only the republican constitution has fundamental principles that underlie every form of civil constitution. The only question now is whether the republican constitution is also the one constitution that can lead to perpetual peace.

Now the republican constitution apart from the soundness of its origin, since it arose from the pure source of the concept of right, has also the prospect of attaining the desired result, namely, perpetual peace. And the reason is this. If, as must be so under this constitution, the consent of the subjects is required to determine whether there shall be war or not, nothing is more natural than that they should weigh the matter well, before undertaking such a bad business. For in decreeing war, they would of necessity be resolving to bring down the miseries of war upon their country. This implies: they must fight themselves; they must hand over the costs of the war out of their own property; they must do their poor best to make good the devastation which it leaves behind; and finally, as a crowning ill, they have to accept a burden of debt which will embitter even peace itself, and which they can never pay off on account of the new wars which are always impending. On the other hand, in a government where the subject is not a citizen holding a vote, (i.e. in a constitution which is not republican), the plunging into war is the least serious thing in the world. For the ruler is not a citizen, but the owner of the state, and does not lose a whit by the war, while he goes on enjoying the delights of his table or sport, or of his pleasure palaces and gala days. He can therefore decide on war for the most trifling reasons, as if it were a kind of pleasure party.¹²⁰ Any justification of it that is necessary for the sake of decency he can leave without concern to the diplomatic corps who are always only too ready with their services.

A republican constitution has a sound foundation because it comes from the pure concept of right. Beyond this, it also offers the prospect of achieving the desired result: perpetual peace. The reason is simple. If the subjects’ consent is required to decide whether to go to war, they will naturally consider the matter carefully. And under a republican constitution, their consent must be required. They would think hard before taking on such a terrible business. For by declaring war, they would necessarily be choosing to bring the miseries of war upon their own country. They must fight themselves. They must pay for the war out of their own property. They must do what little they can to repair the devastation the war leaves behind. Finally, to crown these evils, they must accept a burden of debt that will make even peace bitter. They can never repay this debt because new wars are always threatening. By contrast, consider a government where the subject is not a citizen with a vote. (That is, a government whose constitution is not republican.) Under such a government, plunging into war is the least serious thing in the world. For the ruler is not a citizen but the owner of the state. He loses nothing at all through war. He continues enjoying his fine meals, his sport, his pleasure palaces, and his festivities. So he can decide on war for the most trivial reasons, as if it were some pleasure outing.¹²⁰ If appearances require any justification for the war, he can leave that task to the diplomats without a care. They are always only too ready to help.

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The following remarks must be made in order that we may not fall into the common error of confusing the republican with the democratic constitution. The forms of the state (civitas)¹²¹ may be classified according to either of two principles of division:—the difference of the persons who hold the supreme authority in the state, and the manner in which the people are governed by their ruler whoever he may be. The first is properly called the form of sovereignty (forma imperii), and there can be only three constitutions differing in this respect: where, namely, the supreme authority belongs to only one, to several individuals working together, or to the whole people constituting the civil society. Thus we have autocracy or the sovereignty of a monarch, aristocracy or the sovereignty of the nobility, and democracy or the sovereignty of the people. The second principle of division is the form of government (forma regiminis), and refers to the way in which the state makes use of its supreme power: for the manner of government is based on the constitution, itself the act of that universal will which transforms a multitude into a nation. In this respect the form of government is either republican or despotic. Republicanism is the political principle of severing the executive power of the government from the legislature. Despotism is that principle in pursuance of which the state arbitrarily puts into effect laws which it has itself made: consequently it is the administration of the public will, but this is identical with the private will of the ruler. Of these three forms of a state, democracy, in the proper sense of the word, is of necessity despotism, because it establishes an executive power, since all decree regarding—and, if need be, against—any individual who dissents from them. Therefore the “whole people”, so-called, who carry their measure are really not all, but only a majority: so that here the universal will is in contradiction with itself and with the principle of freedom.

The following remarks are necessary to avoid the common mistake of confusing republican and democratic constitutions. The forms of the state (civitas)¹²¹ can be classified in two ways. The first concerns who holds supreme authority in the state. The second concerns how the people are governed by their ruler, whoever that ruler may be. The first is properly called the form of sovereignty (forma imperii). In this respect, there can be only three kinds of constitution. Supreme authority belongs either to one person, to several people acting together, or to the whole people forming civil society. These are autocracy, or rule by a monarch, aristocracy, or rule by the nobility, and democracy, or rule by the people. The second classification concerns the form of government (forma regiminis), meaning how the state uses its supreme power. The way a state is governed rests on its constitution. The constitution itself is an act of the universal will that turns a multitude into a nation. In this respect, government is either republican or despotic. Republicanism is the political principle of separating the government's executive power from its legislative power. Despotism is the principle by which the state arbitrarily enforces laws it has itself made. Despotism therefore administers the public will, but treats that will as identical to the ruler's private will. Of the three forms of state, democracy, in the strict sense of the word, is necessarily despotic. Democracy establishes an executive power in which everyone decides about any individual who disagrees, and, if necessary, against that individual. Therefore, the so-called “whole people” who carry their measure are not really everyone, but only a majority. So here the universal will contradicts itself and the principle of freedom.

Every form of government in fact which is not representative is really no true constitution at all, because a law-giver may no more be, in one and the same person, the administrator of his own will, than the universal major premise of a syllogism may be, at the same time, the subsumption under itself of the particulars contained in the minor premise. And, although the other two constitutions, autocracy and aristocracy, are always defective in so far as they leave the way open for such a form of government, yet there is at least always a possibility in these cases, that they may take the form of a government in accordance with the spirit of a representative system. Thus Frederick the Great used at least to say that he was “merely the highest servant of the state.”¹²² The democratic constitution, on the other hand, makes this impossible, because under such a government every one wishes to be master. We may therefore say that the smaller the staff of the executive—that is to say, the number of rulers—and the more real, on the other hand, their representation of the people, so much the more is the government of the state in accordance with a possible republicanism; and it may hope by gradual reforms to raise itself to that standard. For this reason, it is more difficult under an aristocracy than under a monarchy—while under a democracy it is impossible except by a violent revolution—to attain to this, the one perfectly lawful constitution. The kind of government,¹²³ however, is of infinitely more importance to the people than the kind of constitution, although the greater or less aptitude of a people for this ideal greatly depends upon such external form. The form of government, however, if it is to be in accordance with the idea of right, must embody the representative system in which alone a republican form of administration is possible and without which it is despotic and violent, be the constitution what it may. None of the ancient so-called republics were aware of this, and they necessarily slipped into absolute despotism which, of all despotisms, is most endurable under the sovereignty of one individual.

Any form of government that is not representative has no true constitution at all. A lawmaker cannot also be the person who carries out his own will. Similarly, the universal major premise of a syllogism cannot also bring the particular cases in the minor premise under itself. Although the other two constitutions, autocracy and aristocracy, are always defective, their defect lies in allowing such nonrepresentative government. Yet both always retain at least the possibility of government in the spirit of a representative system. Thus Frederick the Great at least used to say that he was “merely the highest servant of the state.”¹²² A democratic constitution, on the other hand, makes representative government impossible, because everyone under such a government wants to rule. We may therefore say that government comes closer to possible republicanism as two conditions increase. The executive must have fewer members, meaning fewer rulers, and those rulers must more genuinely represent the people. Such a government may hope to reach the republican standard through gradual reforms. For this reason, achieving the one fully lawful constitution is harder under an aristocracy than under a monarchy. Under a democracy, achieving that constitution is impossible except through a violent revolution. The way a state is governed,¹²³ however, matters infinitely more to the people than the kind of constitution. Yet a people's greater or lesser readiness for this ideal depends greatly on that external constitutional form. If government is to conform to the idea of right, however, it must embody the representative system. Only that system makes republican administration possible. Without representation, government is despotic and violent, whatever its constitution may be. None of the ancient so-called republics understood this requirement. As a result, they inevitably slipped into absolute despotism. Of all forms of despotism, absolute despotism is most bearable when one individual holds sovereign power.

SECOND DEFINITIVE ARTICLE OF PERPETUAL PEACE

SECOND DEFINITIVE ARTICLE FOR LASTING PEACE

II.—“The law of nations shall be founded on a federation of free states.”

II. “International law shall be based on a federation of free states.”

Nations, as states, may be judged like individuals who, living in the natural state of society—that is to say, uncontrolled by external law—injure one another through their very proximity.¹²⁴ Every state, for the sake of its own security, may—and ought to—demand that its neighbour should submit itself to conditions, similar to those of the civil society where the right of every individual is guaranteed. This would give rise to a federation of nations which, however, would not have to be a State of nations.¹²⁵ That would involve a contradiction. For the term “state” implies the relation of one who rules to those who obey—that is to say, of law-giver to the subject people: and many nations in one state would constitute only one nation, which contradicts our hypothesis, since here we have to consider the right of one nation against another, in so far as they are so many separate states and are not to be fused into one.

Nations, as states, may be judged like individuals living in a natural state of society, without external laws governing them. Such individuals harm one another simply by being near one another.¹²⁴ For its own security, every state may, and ought to, demand that its neighbor accept conditions like those of civil society. In civil society, every individual’s rights are guaranteed. This would create a federation of nations, but the federation would not have to be a state of nations.¹²⁵ A state of nations would involve a contradiction. For the term “state” implies a relationship between a ruler and those who obey, between a lawmaker and the people subject to the law. And many nations within one state would form only one nation. This contradicts our starting assumption. Here we must consider the rights of one nation in relation to another, treating nations as separate states, not as nations to be merged into one.

The attachment of savages to their lawless liberty, the fact that they would rather be at hopeless variance with one another than submit themselves to a legal authority constituted by themselves, that they therefore prefer their senseless freedom to a reason-governed liberty, is regarded by us with profound contempt as barbarism and uncivilisation and the brutal degradation of humanity. So one would think that civilised races, each formed into a state by itself, must come out of such an abandoned condition as soon as they possibly can. On the contrary, however, every state thinks rather that its majesty (the “majesty” of a people is an absurd expression) lies just in the very fact that it is subject to no external legal authority; and the glory of the ruler consists in this, that, without his requiring to expose himself to danger, thousands stand at his command ready to let themselves be sacrificed for a matter of no concern to them.¹²⁶ The difference between the savages of Europe and those of America lies chiefly in this, that, while many tribes of the latter have been entirely devoured by their enemies, Europeans know a better way of using the vanquished than by eating them; and they prefer to increase through them the number of their subjects, and so the number of instruments at their command for still more widely spread war.

We deeply despise the attachment of savages to their lawless freedom. They would rather remain hopelessly at odds with one another than submit to a legal authority they themselves established. They therefore prefer senseless freedom to liberty governed by reason. We regard this preference as barbarism, a lack of civilisation, and a brutal degradation of humanity. So we might expect civilised peoples, each organised into a separate state, to escape this lawless condition as soon as possible. Yet every state instead believes its majesty lies precisely in being subject to no outside legal authority. (The “majesty” of a people is an absurd expression.) The ruler’s glory consists in having thousands at his command, ready to sacrifice themselves for something that does not concern them. Meanwhile, the ruler need not expose himself to danger.¹²⁶ The difference between the savages of Europe and those of America lies chiefly in how they treat their defeated enemies. Many tribes in America have been entirely devoured by their enemies. Europeans, however, know a better use for the defeated than eating them. They prefer to add the defeated to their subjects, increasing the number of instruments available for even more widespread war.

The depravity of human nature¹²⁷ shows itself without disguise in the unrestrained relations of nations to each other, while in the law-governed civil state much of this is hidden by the check of government. This being so, it is astonishing that the word “right” has not yet been entirely banished from the politics of war as pedantic, and that no state has yet ventured to publicly advocate this point of view. For Hugo Grotius, Puffendorf, Vattel and others—Job’s comforters, all of them—are always quoted in good faith to justify an attack, although their codes, whether couched in philosophical or diplomatic terms, have not—nor can have—the slightest legal force, because states, as such, are under no common external authority; and there is no instance of a state having ever been moved by argument to desist from its purpose, even when this was backed up by the testimony of such great men. This homage which every state renders—in words at least—to the idea of right, proves that, although it may be slumbering, there is, notwithstanding, to be found in man a still higher natural moral capacity by the aid of which he will in time gain the mastery over the evil principle in his nature, the existence of which he is unable to deny. And he hopes the same of others; for otherwise the word “right” would never be uttered by states who wish to wage war, unless to deride it like the Gallic Prince who declared:—“The privilege which nature gives the strong is that the weak must obey them.”¹²⁸

The depravity of human nature¹²⁷ is openly displayed in the unchecked relations between nations. In contrast, government restraints hide much of this depravity within a civil state governed by law. Given this depravity, it is astonishing that the word “right” has not been dismissed entirely from war politics as pedantic. It is also astonishing that no state has dared to advocate this dismissal publicly. For Hugo Grotius, Puffendorf, Vattel and others are always quoted in good faith to justify an attack. They are all Job’s comforters. Yet their codes, whether expressed in philosophical or diplomatic language, have no legal force whatsoever, nor can they have any. This is because states, as states, answer to no common external authority. And no state has ever been persuaded by argument to abandon its purpose, even with these great thinkers supporting the argument. Every state thus pays respect, at least in words, to the idea of right. This respect proves that human beings nevertheless possess a still higher natural moral capacity, although this capacity may lie dormant. With its help, humanity will eventually overcome the evil principle in human nature, whose existence no one can deny. Each person hopes for the same moral progress in others. Otherwise, states wishing to wage war would never utter the word “right,” unless to mock it. They would speak like the Gallic Prince who declared: “The privilege which nature gives the strong is that the weak must obey them.”¹²⁸

The method by which states prosecute their rights can never be by process of law—as it is where there is an external tribunal—but only by war. Through this means, however, and its favourable issue, victory, the question of right is never decided. A treaty of peace makes, it may be, an end to the war of the moment, but not to the conditions of war which at any time may afford a new pretext for opening hostilities; and this we cannot exactly condemn as unjust, because under these conditions everyone is his own judge. Notwithstanding, not quite the same rule applies to states according to the law of nations as holds good of individuals in a lawless condition according to the law of nature, namely, “that they ought to advance out of this condition.” This is so, because, as states, they have already within themselves a legal constitution, and have therefore advanced beyond the stage at which others, in accordance with their ideas of right, can force them to come under a wider legal constitution. Meanwhile, however, reason, from her throne of the supreme law-giving moral power, absolutely condemns war¹²⁹ as a morally lawful proceeding, and makes a state of peace, on the other hand, an immediate duty. Without a compact between the nations, however, this state of peace cannot be established or assured. Hence there must be an alliance of a particular kind which we may call a covenant of peace (foedus pacificum), which would differ from a treaty of peace (pactum pacis) in this respect, that the latter merely puts an end to one war, while the former would seek to put an end to war for ever. This alliance does not aim at the gain of any power whatsoever of the state, but merely at the preservation and security of the freedom of the state for itself and of other allied states at the same time.¹³⁰ The latter do not, however, require, for this reason, to submit themselves like individuals in the state of nature to public laws and coercion. The practicability or objective reality of this idea of federation which is to extend gradually over all states and so lead to perpetual peace can be shewn. For, if Fortune ordains that a powerful and enlightened people should form a republic,—which by its very nature is inclined to perpetual peace—this would serve as a centre of federal union for other states wishing to join, and thus secure conditions of freedom among the states in accordance with the idea of the law of nations. Gradually, through different unions of this kind, the federation would extend further and further.

States can never pursue their rights through legal proceedings, as they could if there were an external court. They can do so only through war. Yet war and its successful outcome, victory, never settle the question of who is right. A peace treaty may end the current war, but it does not end the conditions that allow war. Those conditions may at any time provide a new pretext for hostilities. We cannot quite condemn renewed hostilities as unjust, because under these conditions everyone judges their own case. Nevertheless, international law does not apply quite the same rule to states that natural law applies to individuals living without law. That rule is “that they ought to leave this condition behind.” The difference arises because states already have a legal constitution within their own borders. They have therefore moved beyond the stage at which others can force them into a wider legal constitution. Others cannot impose such a constitution according to their own ideas of right. Meanwhile, reason, as the supreme moral lawgiver, absolutely condemns war¹²⁹ as a morally lawful course of action. Reason instead makes a state of peace an immediate duty. But without an agreement between nations, this state of peace cannot be established or secured. There must therefore be a special kind of alliance, which we may call a covenant of peace (foedus pacificum). This covenant would differ from a treaty of peace (pactum pacis). A treaty merely ends one war, while the covenant would seek to end war forever. This alliance does not aim to increase the state's power in any way. It aims only to preserve and secure the freedom of that state and the other allied states alike.¹³⁰ But the allied states need not therefore submit to public laws and coercion, as individuals in the state of nature must. We can show that this federation is a practical possibility, not merely an idea. It is to spread gradually across all states and so lead to perpetual peace. Suppose Fortune brings a powerful and enlightened people to establish a republic, which by its very nature favors perpetual peace. This republic would serve as a center for a federal union that other states could join if they wished. Such a union would secure freedom among states in keeping with the idea of international law. Gradually, through different unions of this kind, the federation would spread further and further.

It is quite comprehensible that a people should say:—“There shall be no war among us, for we shall form ourselves into a state, that is to say, constitute for ourselves a supreme legislative, administrative and judicial power which will settle our disputes peaceably.” But if this state says:—“There shall be no war between me and other states, although I recognise no supreme law-giving power which will secure me my rights and whose rights I will guarantee;” then it is not at all clear upon what grounds I could base my confidence in my right, unless it were the substitute for that compact on which civil society is based—namely, free federation which reason must necessarily connect with the idea of the law of nations, if indeed any meaning is to be left in that concept at all.

It is easy to understand why a people would say: “There shall be no war among us, because we shall form a state. We shall establish supreme legislative, executive, and judicial powers to settle our disputes peacefully.” But suppose this state says: “There shall be no war between me and other states. Yet I recognize no supreme lawmaking power that will secure my rights and whose rights I will guarantee.” Then it is not at all clear what grounds I could have for confidence in my rights. The only possible basis would be a substitute for the agreement on which civil society rests, namely, a free federation. Reason must necessarily link such a federation to the idea of the law of nations, if that idea is to retain any meaning at all.

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

The idea that the law of nations gives a right to wage war makes no sense. Such a right would mean deciding what is just through one-sided principles enforced by violence. It would replace universal, external laws that limit each individual's freedom. We must therefore conclude that people who think this way get exactly what they deserve when they destroy one another. They find perpetual peace in the vast grave that buries all the horrors of violence, along with their perpetrators. Reason allows states only one way to escape the lawless condition of constant war in their relations with one another. States must give up their savage, lawless freedom, just as individuals have done, and submit to enforceable public laws. They can then form a State of nations (civitas gentium). This State would keep growing until it finally included all the peoples of the earth. But states, following their understanding of the law of nations, have no desire for this. They therefore reject in practice (in hypothesi) what is right in principle (in thesi). So, if all is not to be lost, only a substitute can take the place of a world republic. Rather than establishing that republic, a federation would avert war, hold its ground, and steadily spread across the world. Only such a federation may check the tendency toward war and resistance to the rule of law. But even then, there will be a constant danger that this tendency may erupt again.¹³¹ “Unholy fury rages within, roaring horribly with a bloodstained mouth.” (Virgil.)¹³²

THIRD DEFINITIVE ARTICLE OF PERPETUAL PEACE

THIRD DEFINITIVE ARTICLE FOR LASTING PEACE

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

III. “People’s rights as citizens of the world must 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 right¹³³ 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.

Here, as in the previous articles, we are discussing rights, not charity. In this context, hospitality means a stranger’s right not to face hostility when entering foreign territory. The territory’s owner may send the stranger away, if doing so will not cause the stranger’s death. But as long as the stranger behaves peacefully, the owner must not treat the stranger as an enemy. The stranger cannot claim a right to be received as a guest. A special friendly agreement would be needed to allow the stranger to stay for a set time. But the stranger does have a right to visit. This right¹³³ to present oneself to others in society belongs to all humanity, because we share possession of the earth’s surface. Since the earth is a globe, we cannot spread out endlessly and must eventually accept living side by side. At the same time, originally no individual had more right than another to live in any particular place. Uninhabitable parts of the earth’s surface, oceans and deserts, divide the human community. Yet ships and camels, “the ship of the desert”, allow people to reach one another across these unclaimed regions. People can thus use our shared claim to the earth’s surface to seek communication with one another. Some coastal inhabitants, for example those on the coast of Barbary, act inhospitably by plundering ships in nearby seas. They also enslave shipwrecked sailors. Similarly, the Arab Bedouins in the deserts believe that being near nomadic tribes gives them a right to rob. Such conduct is therefore contrary to natural law. However, this right to hospitality, the privilege of strangers arriving on foreign soil, extends no further than permission to try to establish contact with the original inhabitants. In this way, distant territories may enter into peaceful relations with one another. These relations may eventually come under the authority of public law. Humanity may thus move closer to establishing a cosmopolitan constitution.

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.

For comparison, let us now consider the unwelcoming behavior of civilized nations, especially the trading states of our continent. The injustice these nations commit when visiting foreign lands and peoples fills us with horror. In their eyes, visiting these places amounts to conquering them. America, the lands of Black Africans, the Spice Islands, the Cape, and other places were considered ownerless when discovered. Their native inhabitants counted for nothing. In Hindustan, Europeans claimed they intended only to establish trading posts, but brought in foreign troops. As a result, the different states of Hindustan were drawn into widespread wars. The oppression of native people followed, along with famine, rebellion, treachery, and the whole list of evils that can afflict humanity.

China¹³⁴ 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.

China¹³⁴ and Japan (Nipon) tried welcoming guests of this kind, but have now taken a prudent step. China has allowed only one European people, the Dutch, access to its shores (but not entry into the country). Japan has granted both rights. But Japan also keeps the Dutch who enter from mixing with the inhabitants, as if the Dutch were prisoners. The worst part of all this, or the best from a moral standpoint, is that all this violence brings no satisfaction. All these trading companies are on the verge of ruin. The Sugar Islands, home to the most horrible and deliberate slavery, yield no real profit. Their only use is indirect, and their purpose is hardly praiseworthy. They supply men to be trained as sailors for warships, thereby helping to sustain war in Europe. And all this has been done by nations that make a great show of their religious devotion. These nations are quite ready to commit injustice. Yet, through their religious orthodoxy, they would like to be counted among the elect.

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.

Contact between the nations of the earth, whether close or distant, has steadily increased everywhere. It has now grown so extensive that a violation of rights anywhere in the world is felt everywhere. So the idea of a cosmopolitan right is not a fanciful or grandiose notion of rights. Rather, it completes the unwritten legal code, covering both constitutional and international law. This addition is necessary to secure public rights for humanity as a whole and thus to achieve perpetual peace. Only by striving to meet the conditions of this cosmopolitan law can we hope that we are gradually approaching that ideal.