Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Essay
to ourselves except by thinking into the physical world the
idea of an end preconceived by the Author of the universe: this
predetermination of nature on the part of God we generally call
Divine Providence. In so far as this providence appears in the
origin of the universe, we speak of Providence as founder of the
world (_providentia conditrix; semel jussit, semper parent._
Augustine). As it maintains the course of nature, however,
according to universal laws of adaptation to preconceived ends,
[_i.e._ teleological laws] we call it a ruling providence
(_providentia gubernatrix_). Further, we name it the guiding
providence (_providentia directrix_), as it appears in the
world for special ends, which we could not foresee, but suspect
only from the result. Finally, regarding particular events
as divine purposes, we speak no longer of providence, but of
dispensation (_directio extraordinaria_). As this term, however,
really suggests the idea of miracles, although the events are
not spoken of by this name, the desire to fathom dispensation,
as such, is a foolish presumption in men. For, from one single
occurrence, to jump at the conclusion that there is a particular
principle of efficient causes and that this event is an end and
not merely the natural [_naturmechanische_] sequence of a
design quite unknown to us is absurd and presumptuous, in however
pious and humble a spirit we may speak of it. In the same way to
distinguish between a universal and a particular providence when
regarding it _materialiter_, in its relation to actual objects
in the world (to say, for instance, that there may be, indeed,
a providence for the preservation of the different species of
creation, but that individuals are left to chance) is false and
contradictory. For providence is called universal for the very
reason that no single thing may be thought of as shut out from
its care. Probably the distinction of two kinds of providence,
_formaliter_ or subjectively considered, had reference to the
manner in which its purposes are fulfilled. So that we have
ordinary providence (_e.g._ the yearly decay and awakening to
new life in nature with change of season) and what we may call
unusual or special providence (_e.g._ the bringing of timber
by ocean currents to Arctic shores where it does not grow, and
where without this aid the inhabitants could not live). Here,
although we can quite well explain the physico-mechanical cause
of these phenomena—in this case, for example, the banks of the
rivers in temperate countries are over-grown with trees, some of
which fall into the water and are carried along, probably by the
Gulf Stream—we must not overlook the teleological cause which
points to the providential care of a ruling wisdom above nature.
But the concept, commonly used in the schools of philosophy,
of a co-operation on the part of the Deity or a concurrence
(_concursus_) in the operations going on in the world of sense,
must be dropped. For it is, firstly, self-contradictory to couple
the like and the unlike together (_gryphes jungere equis_) and
to let Him who is Himself the entire cause of the changes in the
universe make good any shortcomings in His own predetermining
providence (which to require this must be defective) during the
course of the world; for example, to say that the physician has
restored the sick with the help of God—that is to say that He
has been present as a support. For _causa solitaria non juvat_.
God created the physician as well as his means of healing; and
we must ascribe the result wholly to Him, if we will go back
to the supreme First Cause which, theoretically, is beyond our
comprehension. Or we can ascribe the result entirely to the
physician, in so far as we follow up this event, as explicable in
the chain of physical causes, according to the order of nature.
Secondly, moreover, such a way of looking at this question
destroys all the fixed principles by which we judge an effect.
But, from the ethico-practical point of view which looks entirely
to the transcendental side of things, the idea of a divine
concurrence is quite proper and even necessary: for example,
in the faith that God will make good the imperfection of our
human justice, if only our feelings and intentions are sincere;
and that He will do this by means beyond our comprehension,
and therefore we should not slacken our efforts after what is
good. Whence it follows, as a matter of course, that no one must
attempt to explain a good action as a mere event in time by this
_concursus_; for that would be to pretend a theoretical knowledge
of the supersensible and hence be absurd.
[136] _Id est_, which we cannot dissever from the idea of a
creative skill capable of producing them. [Tr.]
[137] See preface, p. ix. above.
Before we determine the surety given by nature more exactly, we
must first look at what ultimately makes this guarantee of peace
necessary—the circumstances in which nature has carefully placed the
actors in her great theatre. In the next place, we shall proceed to
consider the manner in which she gives this surety.
The provisions she has made are as follow: (1) she has taken
care that men _can_ live in all parts of the world; (2) she has
scattered them by means of war in all directions, even into the most
inhospitable regions, so that these too might be populated; (3) by
this very means she has forced them to enter into relations more or
less controlled by law. It is surely wonderful that, on the cold
wastes round the Arctic Ocean, there is always to be found moss
for the reindeer to scrape out from under the snow, the reindeer
itself either serving as food or to draw the sledge of the Ostiak or
Samoyedes. And salt deserts which would otherwise be left unutilised
have the camel, which seems as if created for travelling in such
lands. This evidence of design in things, however, is still more
clear when we come to know that, besides the fur-clad animals of the
shores of the Arctic Ocean, there are seals, walruses and whales
whose flesh furnishes food and whose oil fire for the dwellers in
these regions. But the providential care of nature excites our wonder
above all, when we hear of the driftwood which is carried—whence
no one knows—to these treeless shores: for without the aid of
this material the natives could neither construct their craft, nor
weapons, nor huts for shelter. Here too they have so much to do,
making war against wild animals, that they live at peace with one
another. But what drove them originally into these regions was
probably nothing but war.
Of animals, used by us as instruments of war, the horse was the first
which man learned to tame and domesticate during the period of the
peopling of the earth; the elephant belongs to the later period of
the luxury of states already established. In the same way, the art
of cultivating certain grasses called cereals—no longer known to us
in their original form—and also the multiplication and improvement,
by transplanting and grafting, of the original kinds of fruit—in
Europe, probably only two species, the crab-apple and wild pear—could
only originate under the conditions accompanying established states
where the rights of property are assured. That is to say it would be
after man, hitherto existing in lawless liberty, had advanced beyond
the occupations of a hunter,[138] a fisherman or a shepherd to the
life of a tiller of the soil, when salt and iron were discovered,—to
become, perhaps, the first articles of commerce between different
peoples,—and were sought far and near. In this way the peoples would
be at first brought into peaceful relation with one another, and so
come to an understanding and the enjoyment of friendly intercourse,
even with their most distant neighbours.
[138] Of all modes of livelihood the life of the hunter is
undoubtedly most incompatible with a civilised condition of
society. Because, to live by hunting, families must isolate
themselves from their neighbours, soon becoming estranged and
spread over widely scattered forests, to be before long on terms
of hostility, since each requires a great deal of space to obtain
food and raiment.
God’s command to Noah not to shed blood (I. _Genesis_, IX. 4-6)
[4. “But flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood
thereof, shall ye not eat.
5. And surely your blood of your lives will I require; at
the hand of every beast will I require it, and at the hand
of man; at the hand of every man’s brother will I require
the life of man.
6. Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be
shed: for in the image of God made he man.”]
is frequently quoted, and was afterwards—in another connection it
is true—made by the baptised Jews a condition to which Christians,
newly converted from heathendom, had to conform. Cf. _Acts_ XV. 20;
XXI. 25. This command seems originally to have been nothing else
than a prohibition of the life of the hunter; for here the
possibility of eating raw flesh must often occur, and, in
forbidding the one custom, we condemn the other.
Now while nature provided that men could live on all parts of
the earth, she also at the same time despotically willed that
they _should_ live everywhere on it, although against their own
inclination and even although this imperative did not presuppose an
idea of duty which would compel obedience to nature with the force
of a moral law. But, to attain this end, she has chosen war. So we
see certain peoples, widely separated, whose common descent is made
evident by affinity in their languages. Thus, for instance, we find
the Samoyedes on the Arctic Ocean, and again a people speaking a
similar language on the Altai Mts., 200 miles [_Meilen_][139] off,
between whom has pressed in a mounted tribe, warlike in character
and of Mongolian origin, which has driven one branch of the race
far from the other, into the most inhospitable regions where their
own inclination would certainly not have carried them.[140] In the
same way, through the intrusion of the Gothic and Sarmatian tribes,
the Finns in the most northerly regions of Europe, whom we call
Laplanders, have been separated by as great a distance from the
Hungarians, with whose language their own is allied. And what but war
can have brought the Esquimos to the north of America, a race quite
distinct from those of that country and probably European adventurers
of prehistoric times? And war too, nature’s method of populating
the earth, must have driven the Pescherais[141] in South America
as far as Patagonia. War itself, however, is in need of no special
stimulating cause, but seems engrafted in human nature, and is even
regarded as something noble in itself to which man is inspired by the
love of glory apart from motives of self-interest. Hence, among the
savages of America as well as those of Europe in the age of chivalry,
martial courage is looked upon as of great value itself, not merely
when a war is going on, as is reasonable enough, but in order that
there should be war: and thus war is often entered upon merely to
exhibit this quality. So that an intrinsic dignity is held to attach
to war in itself, and even philosophers eulogise it as an ennobling,
refining influence on humanity, unmindful of the Greek proverb, “War
is evil, in so far as it makes more bad people than it takes away.”
[139] About 1000 English miles.
[140] The question might be put:—“If it is nature’s will that
these Arctic shores should not remain unpopulated, what will
become of their inhabitants, if, as is to be expected, at some
time or other no more driftwood should be brought to them? For