Immanuel Kant and the Myth of Perpetual Peace

June 21, 2019

Immanuel Kant and the Myth of Perpetual Peace

Can the procedures of democratic decision making offer a constitutional solution to the problem of war?

by Andrew Beddow
“Perpetual peace… is nothing more than an idea, an end which, like the “greatest good” or “absolute knowledge,” can never be achieved, but that serves as the constant object of our activity. The moral law demands that we strive for the establishment of justice in the relation among civil states through the creation of a liberal world order. But, as Kant writes, there are empirical causes that disrupt this task—the competition of states, the ebbing and flowing of empires, the spirit of acquisitiveness, and so on. Try as the spirit may, the body will subvert it, and so the idea in its purity can never become an actuality, just as the form of a universal concept is always corrupted by the particularity of its material instance.”–Andrew Beddow
Statue of Immanuel Kant in Kaliningrad state university area, Kaliningrad, Russia. Replica by Harald Haacke of the original by Christian Daniel Rauch lost in 1945.​ Wikimedia Commons

“Man is essentially prone to evil inclinations.”-Immanuel Kant

Perhaps more than any other philosopher, Immanuel Kant has suffered the praise of having been labeled an historical optimist. Kant’s writings on international affairs have been misconstrued as a defense of the both the desirability and inevitability of a world federation of democracies bound by law. This rendering of Kant has been aided by a selective attention to a few key works and a cultivated ignorance of his more pessimistic remarks on the human condition elsewhere. The truth is that Kant’s theory of international affairs is complicated, eluding clean classification as “realist” or “liberal,” but altogether gloomier than is commonly thought. Although the optimist may dream of perpetual peace, no such harmony can be hewn from “the crooked timber of humanity.” Kant’s view of history is in fact quite pessimistic, and his prescriptions for politics are in many ways consistent with the realist paradigm. Mankind faces a Sisyphean task: an unending struggle between the universal and particular, harmony and multiplicity, sympathy and antagonism.

The case for Kant-as-liberal-optimist is straightforward: in Perpetual Peace and the Doctrine of Right, he speaks of the condition of injustice in which states find themselves, arranged in an international anarchy with no higher authority. Like the state of nature among individuals, states are subjected to the unilateral whims of their potential adversaries, a condition formally incompatible with the duty to respect each as an end-in-itself. Just as men must overcome this anarchic condition of injustice by establishing a civil state, states must institute an international legal order in the form of a federation of states submitting to a common adjudicative authority.  Only then can coercion become regulated in the international sphere and represent the omnilateral will of the human race, just as the state represents the will of its people.

If only states were to submit to this regime, war might be done away with. This, however, is possible only in a federation of republics, since they alone will be constituted in a way to abolish the motive for war. Here is the origin of the “democratic peace” doctrine Kant purportedly advanced: for any state with a democratic constitution, “the consent of the citizens . . . is required to determine . . . ‘Whether there shall be war or not?’ Hence, nothing is more natural than that they should be very loth to enter upon so undesirable an undertaking, for . . . they would necessarily be resolving to bring upon themselves all the horrors of War.” Only a democratic world order, in which each state’s population internalizes the costs of its own behavior, can organize itself into a liberal world order in which states are regulated by law.

And yet Kant is elsewhere less sanguine about the prospects for peace. He claims in the Doctrine of Right that “perpetual peace, the ultimate goal of the whole right of nations, is indeed an unachievable idea”—“idea,” as we will soon see, being the operative word. He even characterizes the history of the human race as afflicted by an unavoidable antagonism which cannot—and indeed should not—be cured. Is Kant simply an incoherent thinker, at times a hopeful liberal, elsewhere a pessimist?

We must first understand Kant’s conception of humanity as participating in two worlds, the sensuous and intelligible. Man is at once rational and free, therefore subject to laws of reason and accountable for his actions, and also prone to sensual inclinations, therefore liable to disobey his rational duties when given over to temptation. To say that man ought to act in some way is not to say that he will, but only that, from the practical point of view of free choice, he can and should. A purely rational being, a Holy Will, devoid of sensuous content, could only ever affirm the laws of reason. Animals, on the other hand, obey their instincts and are incapable of freedom and, for this reason, morality also. Man alone is capable of both recognizing the moral law and choosing to disobey it, and it is for this reason that Kant claims that people are by nature evil.

Whether by weakness of will, impurity of motive, or the radical evil of freely choosing immorality, man lives in a fallen condition, inflicting himself on humanity with a cruelty unseen even in beasts. As evidence, Kant offers “international affairs where civilized nations stand vis-à-vis one another in a relationship of a raw state of nature (a continuing state of war), and are firmly resolved never to depart from that . . . This is so much the case that the philosophical chiliasm, who hoped for a state of perpetual peace based on a federation of nations as a world republic, was ridiculed as mentally raptured.” Concupiscence, the inclination toward sin that rests at the base of man’s soul, is incurable, playing itself out time and again in the bloody annals of history. Kant’s judgment is fatalistic, for “as long as a state has another adjacent state which it might hope to subdue, it strives to enlarge itself through the subjugation of this other, and therefore also to make itself a universal monarchy . . . But this monster . . . after having swallowed all neighboring states, finally dissolves of itself and separates through uproar and discord into many smaller states which, instead of striving toward a union of states (a republic of free, allied peoples), simply and of itself starts the process all over again in order never to cease the war.”

What are we to make of Kant’s simultaneous enjoinder to establish liberal order and his pessimism about its prospects? At times it seems as though Kant’s views, especially in Perpetual Peace and the Doctrine of Right, entertain the genuine possibility of perpetual peace through democratization. But this is mistaken, resting on a misunderstanding of Kant’s notion of republican government, a condition that is, like perpetual peace, an unachievable idea. Where the Kantian optimists have failed is to conflate the regulative and the constitutive.

In his Critique of Pure Reason, Kant distinguishes between the regulative and constitutive use of ideas. The latter, he claims, is the mistake of all systems of dogmatic metaphysics—to take the principles of reason as actually constituting objects of the world of appearances apart from one’s own judgment. Space and time are constitutive categories, but ideas are not—phenomena are ordered according to these categories, and every object given in intuition conforms to them a priori. Regulative ideas, by contrast, are merely principles of judgment that, although not formative elements of the world of appearances, must nonetheless be presupposed to render man’s activities coherent. The unity of nature is one such regulative principle—we cannot know as a matter of sense certainty that all sensible particulars are integrated in a lawful whole, but such a unity must be assumed in order to make scientific inquiry possible.

There are practical regulative ideas as well, the presupposition of which is necessary for action, but which are not to be thought constitutive of reality. The existences of God and of an immortal soul are such ideas that must be assumed in order to regulate our actions, but for which we have no theoretical proof. When Kant speaks of an idea, he is speaking in this sense: a formal principle exceeding all bounds of experience, that is not an empirical law governing the world of things, but is instead a necessary postulate to guide our activities. The idea is not an object of possible knowledge, but a necessary assumption that renders knowledge (or, in this case, action) coherent.

So what of the idea of perpetual peace and the prospects of a liberal-democratic world order? Kant writes:

Now morally practical reason pronounces in us its irresistible veto: there is to be no war . . . So the question is no longer whether perpetual peace is something real or a fiction, and whether we are not deceiving ourselves in our theoretical judgment when we assume that it is real. Instead, we must act as if it is something real, though perhaps it is not; we must work toward establishing perpetual peace and the kind of constitution that seems to us most conducive to it . . . And even if the complete realization of this objective always remains a pious wish, still we are certainly not deceiving ourselves in adopting the maxim of working incessantly towards it.

Perpetual peace, as Kant earlier stated, is nothing more than an idea, an end which, like the “greatest good” or “absolute knowledge,” can never be achieved, but that serves as the constant object of our activity. The moral law demands that we strive for the establishment of justice in the relation among civil states through the creation of a liberal world order. But, as Kant writes, there are empirical causes that disrupt this task—the competition of states, the ebbing and flowing of empires, the spirit of acquisitiveness, and so on. Try as the spirit may, the body will subvert it, and so the idea in its purity can never become an actuality, just as the form of a universal concept is always corrupted by the particularity of its material instance.

But what of democratic peace? Can the procedures of democratic decision making offer a constitutional solution to the problem of war? This, too, seems to misunderstand Kant’s thesis. Although Kant does raise the hope that various political developments may abolish war, that is, by his own admission, “only opinion and mere hypothesis, and it is uncertain, like all theories which aim at stating the only suitable natural cause for a proposed effect that is not wholly in our own power.” Kant is, at most, a skeptical proponent.  His stronger claim, that republics cannot wage aggressive war, is not so much a claim about the empirical proclivities of democracies as it is a claim that the concept of a republican government excludes the motives of aggressive war from political decision making. Kant’s conception of a republic, a Rechtsstaat, is not essentially democratic, but law-ordered, such that it only ever acts according to the public will. In such a state, in which the concept of law alone determines policy, there could never exist grounds for an aggressive war, since such a war would only be fought on the basis of sensuous inclinations not considered by a pure system of law.

Thus the idea of perpetual peace is simply a consequence of the idea of a republican constitution considered in connection with a world of other republican constitutions. In such a world, there is no motive for war, as each state aims only at the law. Yet, as soon as one state gives over to temptation, this strict compliance is threatened and competition resurges. Such a risk is an unavoidable stain upon the human condition, as Kant remarks that man is essentially prone to evil inclinations. The drive to sin is ineradicable, so we are left with the conclusion that “Human Nature appears nowhere less amiable than in the relation of whole nations to each other,” and, for this reason, “No State is for a moment secure against another . . . the will to subdue each other or to reduce their power, is always rampant.”

The alternative to a world federation is a balance of power, but this, too, is a “mere chimera” prone to instability at the slightest change. The balance of power is the only hope for peace, and, Kant claims, states are entitled to wage for its sake, but this is an ephemeral hope. History will be characterized not by a final stage of cooperation, but a succession of violent convulsions, the rise and fall of empires. We are left, at best, with a cynical liberalism, one steeped in an appreciation of Realpolitik.

Image result for immanuel kant quotes on perpetual peace

Is this not cause for despair? Far from it—Kant tells us to appreciate the struggle, to assume a cosmopolitan view of history from which the seeming chaos takes on new meaning. The sublime nature of the human condition is not a static equilibrium, but a primordial discord of the soul, in the words of Faulkner, “the human heart in conflict with itself.” All great history is the unfolding of the spirit through its particular forms, a flux that must be seen as ordered by the light of universal law, and a universal that must be viewed as manifested in its particular flawed instances. Kant remarks that Nature employs this strife in order to draw out the capacities of man, raising him above the dumb animals by his being subjected to the struggle, from which he develops Kultur. Just as the pure form or concept—a universal beyond the world of appearance—must manifest itself in the multiplicity of particular objects to become actual, so too must the human spirit be instantiated in a rich diversity of civilizations in order to know itself as law. There is no tree apart from the plurality of existing trees, and yet they achieve their potential and grow taller only out of mutual competition for sunlight. So too does mankind perfect itself through antagonism, through “unsocial sociability.”

Within the movements of history, men act according to their own plans, without any grand design directing them, entering into conflict with one another. But, from the cosmopolitan perspective, seeming order emerges, or, at least, we become able to conceive of the fluctuations of the development of the human race in terms of such an orderly process. The ideal reconstruction of the instants of human development in terms of historical science involves, at each stage, rendering the individual act something more, a participation in a historical moment, reflecting the condition of spirit.

It would be the height of hubris to assume such a point of view in action, to take oneself to be the world-historical figure carrying humanity from one stage of development to the next. For, again, to do so would be to mistake the regulative for the constitutive, to take the idea to be operative in the world like the hand of providence. This is the failing of those who assume the end of history is in sight, and, worse, those who mistakenly assume that such an end can be brought about, not as an abstract goal of the human race, but as the project of some determinate generation. Perpetual peace is not an apparent reality, but an idea through which the developmental stages of humanity becomes synthetically unified in the history of the human race.

Far from a naïve Whig history, hurtling deterministically toward liberal utopia, Kant’s Perpetual Peace is but the form of history, the regulative idea that stands at the end of historical judgment and the guide of political practice. He is as much a skeptic as a rationalist, for whom the pure idea becomes real only in the endless unfolding of its particulars. Harmony is only manifested in its diversity, driven by strife pregnant with cultural significance. Thus, in Kant, we find not the philosopher of the end of history, but of history without end.

Andrew Beddow is a student at the University of Michigan. He is president of the University of Michigan Chapter of the John Quincy Adams Society.

Image: Statue of Immanuel Kant in Kaliningrad state university area, Kaliningrad, Russia. Replica by Harald Haacke of the original by Christian Daniel Rauch lost in 1945.​ Wikimedia Commons

8 thoughts on “Immanuel Kant and the Myth of Perpetual Peace

  1. “Man is essentially prone to evil inclinations.”-Immanuel Kant
    Dean Din, Thanks for showing us the picture of Kant. I never knew how he looked like. I have always imagined him to be an older dull dead white male, erred on the side of being chubby for all the dreaming he has to do when thinking. Rodin’s Thinker with all the muscle never existed, and could never exist.
    Kant is an intellectual giant. By exercising his mind, he was able to remain fresh and young. It is a lesson for me.–Din Merican

  2. Part of me wish that Dr Bakri, a faithfully practicing Muslim doctor living in the Silicon Valley could share his worldview and eschatology. I do believe it could help guide a lot of the young in Malaysia on how to read a very uncertain world. I find hope in America when I get to notice how young Andrew Beddow is. How many local graduates in Malaysia could see the world as it is like Andrew Beddow, and most importantly write about it succinctly?
    Beddow had the benefit of quality education.–Din Merican

  3. “Man is essentially prone to evil inclinations.”

    That was what Han Fei Tzu believed. The only way to control men, therefore, is through laws, however harsh they might’ve to be. Hence what is known as the Legalist system.

    • Icrenoir, you got me curious and stumbled upon this wealth of text Just thought you might like it. HanFei Tzu meant to do so much good with his ‘fa’. Yet, it also got so abused and made to be feared.

      Dean.Din, your students would do well if they could quote from these text better than those from China that they might be meeting. It is the most complete that I have ever seen. Sigh, this land of Tanah Melayu, no Melayu diplomat is ever going to read them.

    • “Man is essentially prone to evil inclinations.”
      @Icrenoir, as a Christian, I absolutely believe in the above statement. Yet, unlike HanFei Tzu’s approach (though I must admit, his methods very much a norm in our modern world), I prefer a spirit like that of Mohist to guide a society.

      For Malaysia, this is especially needed, as we seemed to get obsessed for grandness to overcompensate some unfounded inferiority. Alas, it seems to be happening in our current generation of Chinese also.
      Economy and simplicity 節用、節葬、非樂
      In accordance with the aim of benefiting all under heaven, the Mohists advocated economy of expenditure, and simplicity in funerals and performances of music and dancing. These ideas make sense in the context of pre-Qin society, particularly when one notes the extravagance involved in many of the ceremonies. A funeral could involve the work of thousands of labourers over many months (consider for example the terracotta warriors, though pre-Qin ceremonies would not have reached this level of extravagance), and might also involve the interment of hundreds of the living along with the deceased. For the Mohist, this is a clear example of failing to benefit all under heaven. Similarly in the case of music, the Mohist does not oppose music per se, but rather the extravagance of the musical performances of the time, which would occupy many hundreds of skilled workers to create and operate the enormous bells used, at a time when ordinary people were often faced with starvation.

  4. Happened to look at old postings and surprised that you’d commented on Han Fei Tzu.

    You wrote: “Han Fei Tzu meant to do so much good with his ‘fa’. Yet, it also got so abused and made to be feared.”

    So was the Greek Draco, the first person to introduce written laws to Athens. He meant to help the lower classes who were often punished at the whims of the privileged, but his laws were still so harsh that his name came to be used for harsh laws – “draconian.”

    To me, the distinctive feature of Mo Tzu is that he knew, no matter how righteous a state was, it was liable to be invaded by an aggressive neighbour unless it is taught defensive measures. The Mohists, therefore, were not idle dreamers but practical philosophers. Mo Tzu himself became a famous expert on national defence, and helped save many a state from invasion.

  5. Written laws didn’t originate with Li Si. Actually, Draco’s harsh laws were in line with what the upper class thought the lower class especially needed. Draco’s written laws gave added protection by preventing the wealthy and privileged from making up their own laws. That’s why some of the Draco’s toughest critics were from the privileged class or those serving them. Socrates wasn’t as innocent as Plato made him out to be. His vision of good government leans towards oligarchy at best and dictatorship at worst. Read The Trial and Death of Socrates by IF Stone.

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