Justice, Order and Anarchy This book provides a contextual account of the first anarchist theory of war and peace, and sheds new light on our contemporary understandings of anarchy in international relations. Although anarchy is arguably the core concept of the discipline of International Relations, scholarship has largely ignored the insights of the first anarchist, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Proudhon’s anarchism was a critique of the projects of national unification, universal dominion, republican statism and the providentialism at the heart of enlightenment social theory. While his break with the key tropes of modernity pushed him to the margins of political theory, Prichard links Proudhon back into the republican tradition of political thought from which his ideas emerged, and shows how his defence of anarchy was a critique of the totalising modernist projects of his contemporaries. Given that we are today moving beyond the very statist processes Proudhon objected to, his writings present an original take on how to institutionalise justice and order in our radically pluralised, anarchic international order. Rethinking the concept and understanding of anarchy, Justice, Order and Anarchy will be of interest to students and scholars of political philosophy, anarchism and international relations theory. Alex Prichard is Lecturer in International Relations at the University of Exeter. The New International Relations Edited by Richard Little, University of Bristol, Iver B. Neumann, London School of Economics and Jutta Weldes, University of Bristol. The field of international relations has changed dramatically in recent years. This new series will cover the major issues that have emerged and reflect the latest academic thinking in this particular dynamic area. International Law, Rights and Politics Developments in Eastern Europe and the CIS Rein Mullerson The Logic of Internationalism Coercion and accommodation Kjell Goldmann Russia and the Idea of Europe A study in identity and international relations Iver B. Neumann The Future of International Relations Masters in the making? Edited by Iver B. Neumann and Ole Wæver Constructing the World Polity Essays on international institutionalization John Gerard Ruggie Realism in International Relations and International Political Economy The continuing story of a death foretold Stefano Guzzini International Relations, Political Theory and the Problem of Order Beyond international relations theory? N. J. Rengger War, Peace and World Orders in European History Edited by Anja V. Hartmann and Beatrice Heuser European Integration and National Identity The challenge of the Nordic states Edited by Lene Hansen and Ole Wæver Shadow Globalization, Ethnic Conflicts and New Wars A political economy of intra-state war Dietrich Jung Contemporary Security Analysis and Copenhagen Peace Research Edited by Stefano Guzzini and Dietrich Jung Observing International Relations Niklas Luhmann and world politics Edited by Mathias Albert and Lena Hilkermeier Does China Matter? A Reassessment Essays in memory of Gerald Segal Edited by Barry Buzan and Rosemary Foot European Approaches to International Relations Theory A house with many mansions Jörg Friedrichs The Post-Cold War International System Strategies, institutions and reflexivity Ewan Harrison States of Political Discourse Words, regimes, seditions Costas M. Constantinou The Politics of Regional Identity Meddling with the Mediterranean Michelle Pace The Power of International Theory Reforging the link to foreign policy-making through scientific enquiry Fred Chernoff Africa and the North Between globalization and marginalization Edited by Ulf Engel and Gorm Rye Olsen Communitarian International Relations The epistemic foundations of international relations Emanuel Adler Human Rights and World Trade Hunger in international society Ana Gonzalez-Pelaez Liberalism and War The victors and the vanquished Andrew Williams Constructivism and International Relations Alexander Wendt and his critics Edited by Stefano Guzzini and Anna Leander Security as Practice Discourse analysis and the Bosnian War Lene Hansen The Politics of Insecurity Fear, migration and asylum in the EU Jef Huysmans State Sovereignty and Intervention A discourse analysis of interventionary and non-interventionary practices in Kosovo and Algeria Helle Malmvig Culture and Security Symbolic power and the politics of international security Michael Williams Hegemony & History Adam Watson Territorial Conflicts in World Society Modern systems theory, international relations and conflict studies Edited by Stephan Stetter Ontological Security in International Relations Self-identity and the IR state Brent J. Steele The International Politics of Judicial Intervention Creating a more just order Andrea Birdsall Pragmatism in International Relations Edited by Harry Bauer and Elisabetta Brighi Civilization and Empire China and Japan’s encounter with European international society Shogo Suzuki Transforming World Politics From empire to multiple worlds Anna M. Agathangelou and L. H. M. Ling The Politics of Becoming European A study of Polish and Baltic post-Cold War security imaginaries Maria Mälksoo Social Power in International Politics Peter Van Ham International Relations and Identity A dialogical approach Xavier Guillaume The Puzzle of Politics Inquiries into the genesis and transformation of international relations Friedrich Kratochwil The Conduct of Inquiry in International Relations Philosophy of science and its implications for the study of world politics Patrick Thaddeus Jackson Arguing Global Governance Agency, lifeworld and shared reasoning Edited by Corneliu Bjola and Markus Kornprobst Constructing Global Enemies Hegemony and identity in international discourses on terrorism and drug prohibition Eva Herschinger Alker and IR Global studies in an interconnected world Edited by Renée Marlin-Bennett Sovereignty between Politics and Law Tanja Aalberts International Relations and the First Great Debate Edited by Brian Schmidt China in the UN Security Council Decision-making on Iraq Conflicting understandings, competing preferences Suzanne Xiao Yang NATO’s Security Discourse after the Cold War Representing the West Andreas Behnke The Scandinavian International Society From Norden to the northern dimension? Laust Schouenborg Bourdieu in International Relations Rethinking key concepts in IR Edited by Rebecca Adler-Nissen Making Sense, Making Worlds Constructivism in social theory and international relations Nicholas Greenwood Onuf World of Our Making Rules and rule in social theory and international relations Nicholas Greenwood Onuf Maritime Piracy and the Construction of Global Governance Edited by Michael J. Struett, Jon D. Carlson and Mark T. Nance European Integration and Postcolonial Sovereignty Games The EU overseas countries and territories Edited by Rebecca Adler-Nissen and Ulrik Pram Gad Power, Realism and Constructivism Stefano Guzzini Justice, Order and Anarchy The international political theory of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon Alex Prichard Justice, Order and Anarchy The international political theory of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon Alex Prichard First published 2013 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2013 Alex Prichard The right of Alex Prichard to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Prichard, Alex. Justice, order and anarchy : the international political theory of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon / Alex Prichard. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Proudhon, P.-J. (Pierre-Joseph), 1809–1865.–Political and social views. 2. Anarchism. 3. Mutualism. 4. Social justice. I. Title. HB163.P75 2013 335’.83–dc23 2012036788 ISBN: 978-0-415-59688-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-38617-0 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Taylor & Francis Books Contents Series editor’s foreword x Acknowledgements xii 1 Retrieving Proudhon 1 2 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 19 3 National unity and the nineteenth-century European equilibrium 42 4 War, providence and the international order in the thought of Rousseau, Kant and Comte 67 5 From providence to immanence: force and justice in Proudhon’s social ontology 91 6 The historical sociology of war: order and justice in Proudhon’s La Guerre et la Paix 112 7 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 135 8 Anarchy is what we make of it: rethinking justice, order and anarchy today 156 Notes 168 Bibliography 191 Index 213 Series editor’s foreword Mainstream Anglo-American International Relations (IR) has long been obsessed with a form of anarchy – defined as the absence of a sovereign source of authority and power in the international system – which allegedly distinguishes that system from domestic politics. In this view, as is well known, anarchy is the major problem to be managed in international, or interstate, relations. It is the source of the security dilemma facing individual states, the raison d’etre of the state itself, and the cause of the competitive nature of international politics and the ubiquitous possibility of war and other forms of mayhem. More critical approaches, in contrast, have long denied the centrality of anarchy in IR. For many such critical approaches, the international system has generally been characterised, not by anarchy, but by hierarchy. Rather than beginning with anarchical relations among states, a diversity of Marxian-inspired and other critical approaches begin with fundamentally unequal power relations. Through these power relations – which may take forms like the Roman empire, European colonialism, US neo-imperialism, or the Chinese tributary system (among many others) – de facto, if not de jure, sovereignty is exercised between and among at least some of the states in the international system. The problem is domination, not anarchy. In the first set of approaches, anarchy is a bad thing to be managed by the state; in the second set, it doesn’t exist. Neither entertains the idea that anarchy might not be such a bad thing after all. Alex Prichard’s timely intervention into IR theory celebrates the virtues of anarchy. Arguing that anarchist theory ‘is in the air’ and that IR is perhaps the last social science to take it seriously, Prichard’s volume seeks to recover the anarchist tradition of theorising for IR and ‘to see what the anarchists think about the possibilities of justice and order in anarchy’. Prichard examines the work of the famous anarchist Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, arguing that Proudhon saw international anarchy as a model for other forms of social relations; rather than seeing anarchy as a problem to be managed, for Proudhon and other anarchist thinkers anarchy was in fact ‘the primary goal for all domains of social life’. In this reversal of anarchophobia, Prichard demonstrates, using Proudhon’s late work on IR  Series editor’s foreword xi and particularly his La Guerre et la Paix (1861), that an IR informed by anarchist theory can illuminate just how order and justice are in fact already made possible in anarchy, and without the debilitating and undemocratic consequences of capitalism and the modern state. Anarchist theory, Prichard forcefully argues, allows us to rethink the emancipatory potential of anarchy in world politics, and thus to rethink democracy in a globalising world. Jutta Weldes Series editor Acknowledgements In the time it has taken to research and write this book I have incurred incalculable debts to friends, family and colleagues. Special thanks go to Dave Allen, Paul Byrne, Edward Castleton, David Chandler, Kerry Crusoe, Oliver Daddow, Matt Dafforne, Rob Dover, Suzanne, Theo, Elinor and Owain Evans, Sureyyya Evren, Randal Germain, Eric Herring, Carmen Hill, Steve Hobden, Frances Hughes, Peter Jackson, Rajani Kanth, Milja Kurki, Moya Lloyd, Chris May, Suzi McCann, Michael Mulligan, Neil Pankhurst, Lloyd Pettiford, Saku Pinta, Mark Prichard, Roger Price, Steve Reglar, Nick Rengger, Jan Selby, Latima and Lukman Sinclair, Andrew Wells, Mike Williams, Matt Wilson and Richard Wyn-Jones. I am also grateful to Hélène Pfeil for her assistance with the translation work. A number of people have read this manuscript in part and in its entirety and others read the doctoral dissertation that was the inspiration for this book. I am grateful to Dave Berry, Kim Hutchings, Jeremy Jennings, Jonathan Joseph, Andrew Jillions, Andrew Linklater, Iain McKay, Adriana Sinclair, Steven Vincent, Mark Webber and Shawn Wilbur for their comments and suggestions. Jutta Weldes generously supported publication of this book in the Routledge ‘New International Relations’ series and I would also like to thank her for providing the foreword. I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Ruth Kinna, whose persuasive direction and generous support has been invaluable throughout. The Department of Politics, History and IR at Loughborough University was and remains unique in supporting such a significant cluster of expertise in anarchism. This made the whole doctoral experience a much more convivial intellectual experience than it would otherwise have been. My interlocutors on the Anarchist Studies Network and Anarchist Academics listservs deserve thanks and recognition for enduring my early and awkward attempts to formulate and think through many of the arguments that went into this book. Chapter three was first presented to the members of the International History Group at Aberystwyth University and I am particularly grateful to Gerry Hughes for his comments. Chapter two benefited greatly from the grilling received at the International Theory Workshop at the London School of Economics while I was a Fellow there.  Acknowledgements xiii The ‘Anarchism and Moral Philosophy’ stream at the first Anarchist Studies Network conference was the ideal place to road-test chapter four, and the graduate colloquium at POLIS, University of Cambridge, proved to be a challenging testing ground for chapter six. Last, but by no means least, I would like to thank my wife, Ana Juncos, for her love, help, patience and support throughout. Without her sharp editorial instincts, this book would have been a whole lot more convoluted than it is. Passages from chapter three first appeared as ‘Deepening Anarchism: International Relations and the Anarchist Ideal’, Anarchist Studies 18, no. 2, while parts of chapter five were first published as ‘The Moral Foundations of Proudhon’s Republican Anarchism’, in Benjamin Franks and Matt Wilson (eds), Anarchism and Moral Philosophy (Palgrave, 2010). Finally, passages from chapter one were first published as ‘Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’ in the Cambridge Dictionary of Political Thought, Terrance Ball (ed.) (forthcoming). They are all reprinted here with permission. 1 Retrieving Proudhon History has not been kind to the harbingers of modernity. Nuclear and environmental catastrophe threatens a sixth planetary extinction, and the hubris of the modern ideology of incessant progress is tempered by the memory of the holocaust. Capitalism has yet to collapse under the weight of its own contradictions and the hyper-technocratic and exclusionary orders we once craved as the pinnacle of social order are now the bane of our blemished past. Statism no longer commands the moral high-ground, obedience and deference still less, while the promises of industrialisation have been broken by the costs of environmental degradation. Modern global politics remains the preserve of a largely unaccountable and class- homogenous elite, modern life feels all the more dominated, and the insti- tutions of the global order seem ever more distant from the concerns and control of the vast majority. Neither the promises of statism nor the rhetoric of the end of the nation state provide much comfort. As a result, disillusionment with the established order often turns into boisterous rebellion and yet what change emerges is consolidated within the established parameters of business as usual. More challengingly still, while most on the radical left now accept that the state is no longer the means to revolut- ionary social change, the alternatives have been all but lost to historical memory. It is in this atmosphere that anarchism has re-emerged as perhaps the most vibrant and exciting political movement of our time. Everywhere, horizontal modes of social organisation, consensus decision-making, low footprint lifestyles and a rejection of capitalism and the state go hand-in- hand with the affirmation of equality and the widening of the zones of social inclusion; rejecting sexism, racism and hetronormativity and the plural ‘regimes of domination’1 that structure (post)modern life. Anarchism is in the air, and yet, if we were to believe the soothsayers of modernity, it was doomed to extinction with the emergence of industrial society. Perhaps then, with the passing of industrial society in the crippled centres of twentieth-century power, this may yet be ‘the age of anarchism’.2 In the aftermath of the Battle for Seattle, the killing of anti-capitalist protesters in Genoa and Athens, and the revolts and uprisings that have 2 Retrieving Proudhon punctuated the years since the turn of the millennium, anarchism, that complex of ideas and practices long-consigned to the dustbin of history, is being fished back out again, dusted off and reassessed. Absent on the curricula of most relevant university courses, these new histories are mostly being written from scratch, while the mainstream looks on warily. Given the proximity of that mainstream to the traditional concerns of state and capital, it is perhaps little surprise that there is a more complete memory of anarchism on the streets than in the standard textbooks of the academy. But in the last few years alone, there has been an explosion of new works on anarchist movements in various geographical locales, books on anarchist theory and anarchist praxis. There are new anarchist vegan recipe books and new and empowering anarchist histories. There are new books on the complex philosophy of anarchism, its relation to art and the environment, social organisation and equality.3 Throughout all of these, as Uri Gordon has noted, there runs a common concern to identify, unravel and liberate from the ‘regimes of domination’ that characterise our modern condition, to seek out new ways of living together and new means through which to realise the good life.4 The discipline of International Relations (IR) is perhaps the last strong- hold in the social sciences to have withstood the anarchist advance. And yet, it is perhaps the place where anarchism can have most impact and where anarchists can also learn a great deal. Ironically, anarchy is the central concept of the discipline: that anarchy between states that is constituted by their egoism and their de jure (rather than de facto) sovereignty. Such has been the centrality of the concept of anarchy to the everyday concerns of IR theorists that in a recent history of the evolution of the discipline, Brian Schmidt was moved to dub IR ‘the political discourse of anarchy’.5 For nearly 150 years now, IR scholars have been anarchy, if not anarchist, theorists. What distinguishes IR theory from anarchist theory is that on the whole, but especially amongst the more progressive theorists in the field, anarchy is widely seen to be the pathogen of politics, that feature of political life that international organisations like the UN, the spread of democracy and the institutions of global capitalism were supposed to release us from once and for all. This project has proven to be something of a chimera. As I will argue in the pages that follow, the desire for ever stronger states – the assumed lynchpin of global order – has resulted in ever more conflict. Moreover, as states have strengthened, so too have they been prone to dis- solution. Principally, the forces of neoliberal globalisation and regional integration have seen modern states undercut and overruled by wider and more parochial political, economic and social interests. The collapse in the certainties of the enlightenment and the decline of the modernist credos of inevitable progress has also seen a wider existential collapse in confidence, buttressed only by finding new enemies of peace and freedom against which to fight unending wars. Anarchy is more, not less acute in the contemporary era and yet, on the whole, order prevails.  Retrieving Proudhon 3 The fact of order in anarchy is perhaps the central conundrum of the discipline of IR. As Kenneth Waltz put it in his discipline-shaping work: ‘[t]he problem is this: how to conceive of an order without an orderer and of organizational effects where formal organization is lacking.’6 Anarchy (the absence of an ‘archos’, or formal leader and final point of authority7) is considered to be the structural feature which most clearly distinguishes international life from domestic politics. How, it is asked, given what we think we know about anarchy, is it possible that despite its prevalence, order persists? As I will show later on, answers to this question are what have shaped theorising in IR. But this framing relies on a number of highly problematic assumptions with quite well-established consequences. First of all, Waltz assumes, and most others follow, that the domestic order, such as it is structured institutionally by states, is characterised by formal hierarchy, in contrast to the anarchy of international relations. The implications of this framing have become almost intuitive for scholars of IR ever since. In an influential piece published in 1966, Martin Wight, one of the key architects of post-war British International Relations scholarship penned an article entitled ‘Why Is There No International Theory?’8 Wight argued that there was no established canon of thinking about how to achieve the good life in world politics for the seemingly obvious reason that it was simply impossible to write. Since no overarching authority exists in the international sphere, to theorise the good life with reference to anarchy was a non-starter – anarchy cannot be a framework for thinking about the values of justice, or peace, order and progress. Reinforcing the academic division of labour between political theory and IR, Wight argued that speculation about the good life is only possible within states and within the intellectual parameters set by methodological nationalism. Wight recognised that where snippets of international theory were penned it invariably came under the title of ‘the philosophy of history’ and, he rightly concluded, that it was usually but a small step from there to ‘theodicy’9 – a claim I will support at length in the chapters to follow, but one that is rarely recognised by the contemporary field. But, he also argued that, ‘[t]he only political philosopher who has turned wholly from political theory to inter- national theory is Burke’, and ‘[t]he only political philosopher of whom it is possible to argue whether his principal interest was in the relations between states rather than – or even more than – the state itself, is Machiavelli’.10 Innumerable scholars have since questioned this claim and have brought back to our attention a long lost tradition of international political theory.11 Even more scholars have sought to show that even in anarchy justice and the good life is possible.12 Very few, however, have thought to recover the anarchist tradition of theorising about international relations and to see what the anarchists think about the possibilities of justice and order in anarchy.13 None have investigated whether Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’s voluminous writ- ings on the subject have any value for understanding its central concept. 4 Retrieving Proudhon What I will show is that the international political theory of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1809–65), the first self-professed anarchist, presents a distinct challenge, not only to the historiography of the discipline but also to its central claims around the concept and potentials of anarchy. Recovering Proudhon’s thought in its context, I will show, requires us to question a number of assumptions about the inevitability of the present and helps us rethink the potential of anarchy for the future. In a move that will at first seem counter-intuitive, Proudhon believed that international anarchy was something of a template for all social relations. Rather than see it as the thing to be overcome, Proudhon argued that anarchy was the natural condition of social life, that statism and transcendent orders proposed by the modernists were illusory, and that domination was a break on history as well as a bullet to the knee of every man or woman who sought self-realisation. Like Martin Wight, Proudhon recognised clearly the wider tendency in nineteenth-century political discourse towards theodicy in the understanding of war and history, and the concomitant tendency to see progress to ever higher liberal and republican orders as being preordained in history. For him, as I will show, overcoming domination was as much a project of cosmology and history as it was of politics and economics. While contemporary IR theorists are perplexed by order in anarchy, for Proudhon and the anarchists that followed him, anarchy was the primary goal for all domains of social life. Proudhon saw in the international anar- chy a tendency of states towards mutually recognised pacts, constituted in anarchy. He saw federalism as a constitutional project apposite for the institutionalisation of all social groups, ensuring liberty in anarchy. Just as states mutually constrain one another, as states became more republican he saw further opportunities for order and justice to be constituted by all social groups mutually constraining one another. For him, the inter- national anarchy provided an imperfect template for a system without any final points of authority, a system in which, as he put it: ‘the political centre is everywhere, the circumference nowhere. This is unity.’14 This vision was argued consistently throughout his 25 years of writing. In his first book, What is Property? (1840), he argued: ‘As man seeks justice in equality, so society seeks order in anarchy.’15 On his deathbed, 25 years later, Proudhon dictated his final book to his friend Gustave Chaudey. Here he suggested, ‘[t]hat which is known in particular as le pacte de garantie between states is nothing else than one of the most brilliant applications of the idea of mutuality, which, in politics, becomes the idea of federation’.16 Whereas at the outset he attempted to prove the possibility of anarchism by reference to a critique of bourgeois property relations and extended treaties on epistemology and politics, during the final five years of his life he argued that there was much that we could learn about the possibility of anarchism from international relations. The broad, theoretical aim of this book is to set out this vision of anarchy and in so doing to invert the classical conception of the division of labour  Retrieving Proudhon 5 between IR and political theory. My aim is to show that IR, updated and fleshed out with the benefit of anarchist theory, is uniquely positioned to help us understand the processes and means through which order and justice are possible in anarchy. As processes of globalisation radically pluralise the global order and methodological nationalism retreats ever further, this is not the end of ‘the international’ as a discreet or sui generis domain of social life. In fact, it has never been either. But this does not mean that new and radical theories of anarchy are not required to help us conceptualise the deepening pluralisation and ordered anarchy of the inter- national system. We need both a sense of how this condition emerged and the immanent processes within it that can help us get a handle on the future. Contextualising Proudhon’s theory of anarchy in terms of his own intellec- tual and historical context, I propose, can help us to that end. This book provides a defence of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’s understanding of and vision for global politics, derived from an original re-reading of his un-translated, final works.17 My aim is to use this historical recovery to speak to our modern predicament once more. I set out this vision by reconstructing Proudhon’s social theory from the bottom up, from his theory of justice in general, to his sociological theory of group agency; from his thinking about the place of war in human history to his theory of the foundational right of force; all crowned by his vision of a radically decentralised federalism guided by a commutative principle of mutualism, both of which institutionalise his anti-statism and anti-capitalism respec- tively. The pages that follow contextualise Proudhon’s international political theory within the intellectual debates of his time, specifically within the plural currents of French republican political thought, the collapse of empires and the industrialisation of warfare in the nineteenth century. I show how Proudhon engaged debates around positivism, social engineer- ing, the cosmological providentialism of his contemporaries and their promises that the future would always be better than the past. But within this broad context, it is the primary aim of this book to make a substantive contribution to debates around the theorisation of the rela- tionship between justice, order and anarchy in International Relations and political theory. The contrasting vision of anarchism and anarchy in IR and political theory, the one positive the other negative, have a common historical heritage.18 The modern state and the modern individual emerged out of the same primordial intellectual and political soup, at around the middle of the seventeenth century. The model of the rational, sovereign, autonomous individual became the template for conceptualising the moral and political agency of the emerging polities of Western Europe, and vice versa.19 The pressures facing individuals in a pre-social state of nature were said to be amplified thousand-fold in the international anarchy and were it not for sovereign states, chaos would ensue. The state of nature theory was offered as an indication in this regard. As Hobbes argued, 6 Retrieving Proudhon though there had never been any time, wherein particular men were in a condition of warre one against the another; yet in all times, Kings, and Persons of Soveraigne authority, because of their Independency, are in continuall jealousies, and in the state and posture of Gladiators [ … ] which is a posture of War.20 ‘But’, he continues, ‘because they [Kings and Persons of Soveraigne authority] uphold thereby the Industry of their Subjects; there does not follow from it, that misery, which accompanies the Liberty of particular men.’21 According to Hobbes, then, the state exists as the lynchpin of domestic peace and the resulting anarchy is the tragic catalyst for inter-state war. Many disagreed with Hobbes, rejecting his materialist dystopia and the vision of an overbearing state, but the evolution of political theory was marked by the continuation of this conception of ever more autono- mous and/or sovereign individuals and the problem of anarchy that emerges from their consequent inter-relationship. It is this basic problem that the European republicans of the nineteenth century applied themselves: how do you get rid of anarchy without undermining autonomy? How can you have order without an orderer? For Proudhon, the answer was anarchism. For the rest, the republican state would lead us to the Kantian ‘Kingdom of Ends’, and this eschatology was given in history itself. Contemporary international political theorists tend to reject the pro- position that the international and domestic are fundamentally distinct,22 many suggesting that if international relations are no longer distinct social domains, the inter-state anarchy no longer the most pressing issue in world politics, then perhaps our globalised world order is ushering in the end of IR theory?23 With the help of anarchism IR theorists, that is to say those who preoccupy themselves with order in anarchy, are uniquely positioned to understand the emerging, complex and hyper-pluralised world order. Never, to my knowledge, has anyone set out systematically how the international anarchy might provide a template for politics as such, or how it is not only viable but justifiable on normative, historical, sociological and analytical grounds.24 This is surely partly to be explained by the fact that IR, like political theory, has become ‘bewitched’ by its core concepts.25 A particular notion of anarchy and a general fidelity to the state has become embedded and has ossified the intellectual contours of IR and political theory. Such is the dominance of the centrality of the state to most political and IR theory, and such are the effects of the marginalisation of anarchism, that attempts to craft critical alternatives to statism in IR and political theory routinely elide what an anarchist would take to be obvious. There is simply no general frame of reference for understanding how anar- chism might have something to contribute to contemporary IR or political theory. Because of this lacuna, the exegesis I provide here is the primary contribution of this book.  Retrieving Proudhon 7 So who was Proudhon? Born in the middle of the Napoleonic Wars in the eastern French city of Besançon in 1809, the young Pierre-Joseph, the son of a cooper and cook, was raised in poverty and personal calamity. Post-war famine wreaked havoc on the region in 1817, and his father’s business failed for refusing to profit from his customers (a moral conundrum that perplexed the young Proudhon). Pierre-Joseph was sent to school barefoot and without books, humiliated and belittled by his more affluent peers, he abandoned his baccalaureate at the final moment to help support the impoverished family. Eventually completing his schooling in 1827, he went on his first tour of France and on his return secured an elite apprenticeship as a typesetter for a local, but important press, publishing staple religious works alongside those of his radical local compatriot, Charles Fourier. His work nurtured his precocious intellect. He learned Greek, Hebrew and Latin, and developed a passion for philology. In 1838 he won a scholarship from the Suard foun- dation, allowing him to travel to Paris where he attended lectures by Jules Michelet (amongst others) and was immersed in the intellectual ferment of the Restoration period. The product of this scholarship were his treaties on the celebration of the Sabbath and his three memoires on property, written between 1839 and 1841, the most famous of which, What is Property? set out the broad con- tours of an original political philosophy that would be developed and expanded throughout his subsequent 25 years of publishing: anarchism. In this book he debunked natural law arguments for private property, arguing that it was state power and not nature which sustained property regimes. If nature had any role it was in granting all things to all men in common, and if all property must naturally be held in common, all private property is necessarily ‘theft!’ Important subsequent works, including De la Création de l’Ordre dans l’Humanité (1843) and Système des contradictions économiques, ou philosophie de la misère (1846) developed Fourierist critiques of Kantian rationalism and radical socialist critiques of the iniquities and contradictions of bourgeois economics.26 These brought him immediate notoriety and attracted interest from across the Rhine. The Prussian Karl Marx and Russian Michael Bakunin both spent extended periods of time with Proudhon in 1843. Once Proudhon refused collabora- tion with Marx and Engels, he attracted their bitter vitriol in Marx’s caricature of Proudhon in The Poverty of Philosophy (1847). The following year, Proudhon was elected, by some considerable margin, to the revolutionary assembly of 1848. His temperament was ill-suited to the stuffy, elitist atmosphere of the assembly and his provincial probity and bellicosity prompted an ultimately harmless duel demanded by Felix Pyat – Proudhon having punched Pyat in the face in the corridors of parliament in retaliation to an insult. During this time he also established his ill-fated Bank of the People, a forerunner for mutualist banking, established his first of many newspapers and journals, Le Peuple, and was then imprisoned in 1849 for publically claiming in a series of journal articles that Louis 8 Retrieving Proudhon Napoleon Bonaparte, then president of the assembly, was a reactionary imperialist. While incarcerated he wrote a further two books, including the famous General Idea of the Revolution in the Nineteenth Century (1851), was married and fathered his first child. He was still in jail in December 1851 when Louis Napoleon seized power in a coup d’état, crowned himself emperor and declared the treaties of 1815 to be null and void, thus vindi- cating all Proudhon had written about him. On his release he set about preparing his four volume magnum opus, De la Justice dans la Revolution et dans l’église (first edition 1858), in which he aimed, paraphrasing Charles Lemaire, to ‘demonarchize the universe’ as well as dethrone the emperor. The book brought censure and the threat of another jail term and the Proudhon family was forced into exile in Belgium. While there he penned six works on European politics, the most important of which was La Guerre et la Paix (1861), the central textual focus of this book. Here he developed an historical and sociological analysis of the role of war and force in the constitution of nations and the systems of right structuring Europe. Hearing of his work, Leo Tolstoy gained a written invi- tation from Alexander Herzen to meet with Proudhon in Brussels early in 1861, where they discussed their mutual interest in the Napoleonic campaigns and the philosophy of history.27 This meeting prompted Tolstoy to take the title of Proudhon’s work for his own, but the influence ran far deeper than this, as Tolstoy’s later life would attest. Proudhon’s subsequent influence on European political thought was deep and wide. Apart from giving nascent form to the political philosophy of anarchism, he also influenced the early ideas of the English pluralists, Harold Laski and G. D. H. Cole, as well as the functionalist David Mitrany, and the French sociologists Celetsin Bouglé and George Gurvitch.28 Proudhon died in his wife’s arms in 1865. Of significance to us is the fact that Proudhon was present at the birth of the nation state, the emergence of capitalism and the beginning of the end of the age of empires. From his mid-nineteenth-century vantage point, he watched the onset of the industrialisation of warfare, the demise of military and revolutionary élan, and the rise of utilitarianism in politics, ethics and strategy. He watched states form and collapse and choke revolu- tionary aspirations, and he framed his response to these processes in the vernacular of the enlightenment. As I will demonstrate later on, in his writings on international politics, three writers stand out as his key inter- locutors: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant and Auguste Comte, three writers who perhaps more than any others provided the intellectual chassis of the European enlightenment. Their writings on the centrality of war to history, of the state to political order, of science to enlightenment, were all central to French thought in the nineteenth century and had a deep and profound influence on Proudhon’s writings about international politics. Needless to say, it is the statism of their writings that Proudhon objected to. But less well known is Proudhon’s rejection of their deeply held  Retrieving Proudhon 9 providentialism, their eschatological philosophy of history that was tied directly to the necessity of establishing hierarchy within the republican state and federations between them. For each of these writers, the eradication of anarchy within the state was the corollary project to abolishing inter- national anarchy. Anarchy was a pathological condition rather than the cure and it is this legacy that contemporary IR and political theory is struggling with today. Going back to Proudhon’s writings will provide a unique per- spective on the origin of these debates and processes and should tell us something about the path not followed. Contrary to Martin Wight’s claim that Burke was the only modern writer to have written extensively on international affairs, and unlike most of his contemporaries and those who came after him, the turn to the European equilibrium was no mere appendage to his earlier writings. Proudhon’s engagement with international politics spanned the last five years of his life and seven books. Prior to this ‘turn’ Proudhon penned his magnum opus, his four-volume work De la Justice dans la révolution et dans l’église (1858). This book which comprised 12 études on all manner of subjects, from the philosophy of ideas, to love and marriage, to the state, presents the most comprehensive summary of Proudhon’s life’s work up to that point and the length and comprehensiveness of it perhaps vindicates Metternich’s claim that Proudhon was ‘the illegitimate child of the encyclopaedia’.29 Only one of the 12 études, titled ‘Progres et décadence’, was left unaltered for the second edition, published two years later in 1861. This étude set out his philosophy of history, and in many respects it repeated arguments that had been made in two of his earlier works, De la Création de l’order dans l’humanité (1843) and Philosophie du Progress (1853). But rather than develop the book for the second edition, as he had the others, he decided to write a new two-volume work on the subject. La Guerre et la Paix. Recherches sur la Principe et la Constitution du Droit des Gens (1861) was the first of seven books in which Proudhon engaged directly with nineteenth- century international politics. The others are La Fédération et l’Unité en Italie (1862), Du Principe Fédératif et de la Nécessité de Reconstituer le Parti de la Révolution (1863), Si les Traités de 1815 ont Cessé d’exister (1863), Nouvelles Observations sur l’Unité Italienne (1865). Two final volumes were published posthumously: France et Rhin (1867) and Contradictions Politiques: Theorie du movement constitutionnele au XIXe siècle (1870).30 Needless to say, these books have been almost completely ignored across the board and what engagement there is, is highly critical. Writing in The Times Literary Supplement, soon after the end of the Second World War, E. H. Carr (alongside Hans Morgenthau, one of two key architects of post- war IR) claimed that Proudhon was ‘one of the first crank financial reformers’ an ‘isolated eccentric’ out of touch with his times. This grand- father of modern IR argued that Proudhon’s vision of ‘a world of indepen- dent self-assertive individuals’ was doomed to be subsumed by the forces of modern nationalism and industrialism and his political theory was also 10 Retrieving Proudhon full of ‘self-contradictions’. Perhaps most importantly, Carr also argued that Proudhon’s two-volume La Guerre et la Paix, the text which this book largely seeks to explain, could be dismissed ‘as a passing aberration’ or a ‘confusion of thought’. It was a ‘panegyric on war’ that included a ‘disconcerting streak of self-assertive nationalism’. Carr also agreed with J. Selwyn Schapiro that Proudhon was a ‘progenitor of Hitlerism’,31 an argument that Carr believes Schapiro ‘depicts [ … ] with skill and plausibility’.32 Hans Morgenthau, that other architect of the early professionalisation of academic IR, took up the fight where Carr left off. He argued that like his liberal contemporaries Cobden and Bright, Proudhon was ‘convinced that the removal of trade barriers was the only condition for the establish- ment of permanent harmony among nations, and might even lead to the disappearance of international politics altogether’.33 Morgenthau also claimed, somewhat more accurately so it happens, but in his view no less damningly, that ‘Proudhon was among the first to glorify the blessings of science in the international field’.34 Proudhon was thus guilty of a second naïveté: scientism, the belief that, as Morgenthau understood it, if human behaviour could be brought into line with universal reason, the harmony that would emerge would be forceful enough to end the ‘atavism of power politics’.35 Morgenthau directs the reader to Proudhon’s La Guerre et la Paix in a footnote for evidence of this apparently childish and utopian sentiment. These positions are based on the flimsiest of textual evidence and the shallowest of interpretations, but unfortunately, we can only gain limited assistance from more sympathetic writings on Proudhon’s thought. Robert Hoffman sees this aspect of his thought as a ‘philosophy of history more than anything else’, and he also argues that La Guerre et la Paix remains something of an enigma, concluding that the work is ‘little more than an awkward effort to provide a rationale for conclusions that he would have done better to offer and argue differently’.36 In Proudhon et l’Europe (1945), a text that E. H. Carr claimed to be ‘[m]ore judicial’ than most,37 Madalene Amoudruz shows that what transpired in the totalitarian century after Proudhon’s death was the ‘inverse’ of what he had argued and campaigned for. While accurate and historically detailed, the international political context that Amoudruz provides crowds out any intellectual context, and Proudhon is unfortunately painted as an astute journalist with the common sense of the ‘petit paysanne’ but none of the intellectual acumen of his more illustrious contemporaries.38 The only single-authored monograph in any language to deal entirely with Proudhon’s political theory is Alan Ritter’s The Political Thought of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1969). Ritter uses Proudhon’s international political theory, that is to say his extensive writings on war, peace and justice, to better elucidate his political theory.39 This is somewhat amusing from the perspective of IR, given that scholars in this field have tended to  Retrieving Proudhon 11 do precisely the opposite with everyone else, which is to say they have contextualised the fragments various past thinkers wrote on international politics in the context of their voluminous outpourings on every other subject.40 In this respect, both Ritter and Proudhon are quite unique. However, this is where the value of Ritter’s book ends. Ritter argues that Proudhon’s entire output can be reduced to a deontological principle of ‘respect’, and he devotes the contents of the book to assessing various propositions in Proudhon’s theory in so far as they are consistent or incon- sistent with this assumed first principle. Ritter concludes that Proudhon’s theory of mutualism ‘is manifestly ineffective’ when considered in relation to the realities of geopolitics. He concludes that, ‘[t]hough he did make some shrewd points about international affairs in his last years, they did nothing to build confidence in the durability of mutualism – quite the reverse’.41 Damning though these readings are, they are also demonstrably false and one of the secondary purposes of this book is to correct these readings by providing a new account of Proudhon’s international political theory. Locating Proudhon today: critical IR theory and French republican socialism A more plausible account of Proudhon’s writings can be constructed in the light of the achievements and developments in contemporary critical IR theory and the burgeoning literature in republican political theory. Both provide a contemporary frame of reference for thinking about Proudhon’s broader international political theory while also helping us locate it in its historical context.42 Turning first to critical IR theory, it is well known that the failure and retrenchment of the old left has opened up room for the reinvestigation of a number of alternative perspectives on issues of power and social exclusion in IR and in social and political theory more broadly. In IR, the space left by traditional varieties of Marxism has been colonised by critical theorists of a number of different hues: poststructuralist, feminist, Frankfurt School, post-colonial and Trotskyist.43 As Andrew Linklater argued they would in an important piece in 1992,44 critical theoretical approaches have since realigned around a set of new questions. Critical theorists now ask about the proper shape of political community in the aftermath of the failure of statism; question the historical forces that structure processes of domination and development; reinvestigate the epis- temological questions relating to the foundations of modern politics; and debate the question of progress and human agency in the aftermath of the travesties of modernity, the dark side of ‘enlightenment’ evidenced in the techno-rationalism of totalitarianism and the holocaust.45 While critical IR theory draws its inspiration from the outcomes of the project of modernity, Proudhon developed his thinking based on an analysis of the likely future trajectory. Proudhon’s anarchism draws its force from 12 Retrieving Proudhon its historical context and this context can tell us much about where to go from here. As I will show, Proudhon refused to reduce social conflict to class conflict, refused to valorise the state as the primary zone of ethical community and refused the providentialist historical narratives of his con- temporaries. Proudhon suggested that the universal subject is a myth, that all emergent social groups (rather than just the state) were potentially political and moral actors, central to individual human flourishing and worth defending on this ground, and he sought radically federalist ways of defending their autonomy and linking them into ever wider zones of inclusion. But my aim here is not to read Proudhon as a progenitor of contemporary critical theory. Rather, I suggest that the significance of Proudhon’s international political theory for our contemporary (post) modern predicament can be best understood with reference to his historical context.46 The intellectual context within which Proudhon’s ideas developed was broadly republican and in this respect this book contributes to a number of works that are slowly reintegrating IR into this critical tradition in the history of political ideas.47 As Philip Petit, Quentin Skinner and many others have recently shown, republicanism has always been centrally con- cerned with the plural forms of domination that mark political communities, but the responses to this core problem have been as diverse as there have been writers on the subject.48 Proudhon developed his ideas in response to the ideas of the dominant republican political theorists of his time, in particular the towering figures of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant and the father of sociology, Auguste Comte. It is to this conversation, about the proper scope and limit of the state, the source of moral community and the epistemological debates that underpinned the various approaches to this issue that Proudhon contributed, and his works were remarkably consistent over time. In What is Property? his first extended work, Proudhon set up the following imagined dialogue between himself and a puzzled, if imaginary, interlocutor: ’But [ … ] you are a republican.’ – Republican, yes, but this word defines nothing. Res publica; that is, the public thing. Now whoever is concerned with public affairs, under whatever form of government, may call himself a republican. Even kings are republicans. ‘Well, then you are a democrat?’ – No. – ‘What! You are a monarchist?’ – No. – ‘A constitutionalist?’ – God forbid. – ‘You are then an aristocrat?’ – Not at all. – ‘You want a mixed government?’ – Still less. – ‘So then what are you?’ I am an anarchist.49 It may surprise many, including most anarchists no doubt, to learn that anarchism has this republican legacy and the aim of this book is to expand on this. The direction I take this elaboration is into the area of French socialist republicanism. As Richard Vernon has argued, what marked  Retrieving Proudhon 13 Proudhon’s republicanism out from that of his contemporaries was that for him, republicanism, ‘as a political value, was merely an arrest of the spirit of liberation, whose ends were not political at all’.50 Rather, Proudhon’s stated aim was, first and foremost, to ‘REPUBLICANIZE [ … ] PROPERTY’.51 This involved limiting the prerogative of property owners – lords and fiefs in their industrial domains – and showing how it was possible and necessary to radically democratise and mutualise the economy to this end. This anarchist socialist impulse at the heart of Proudhon’s republicanism is evident throughout his writings and no less so in his writings on international politics. Indeed, all careful readers of Proudhon’s writings would surely be inclined to agree with Steven Vincent, perhaps the premier English-language scholar of Proudhon’s thought today, that Proudhon is a long way from the ‘egregious eccentric’ commonly portrayed in the secondary literature. In fact, ‘Proudhon had a consistent vision of society and its needs, a vision which is pre-eminently moral, and which revolves around his desire to install a federal arrangement of workers’ associations and to instil a public regard for republican virtue’.52 What I want to show, by extension, is that the template Proudhon developed for thinking about republican anarchism was informed by his understanding of international relations and that therefore, Proudhon’s writings can contribute much to contemporary IR and political theory. Vincent’s is the most authoritative treatment of Proudhon’s political thought to date and yet, while generally comprehensive, Vincent’s work does not engage with Proudhon’s international political theory nor does he engage, perhaps more surprisingly, with his theory of justice. The centrality of the latter to Proudhon’s entire oeuvre cannot be underestimated (as I will show) and yet Vincent is explicit that he does not deal with it ‘in any detail’.53 Vincent’s aims are more to uncover the social, intellectual and political context of Proudhon’s formative years (1830–52), in order to shed contextual light on his thinking about socialism and federalism in the final years of his life. To this end, Proudhon’s theory of justice is back- grounded, while his theory of international politics is ignored. This book will therefore make a considerable contribution to our understanding of this aspect of Proudhon’s thought and in so doing provide an early account of republican and anarchist international political theory. This republican legacy persists in contemporary anarchist thinking, though its foremost theorists are often oblivious to this fact. For example, Uri Gordon has argued that at the heart of anarchist thinking is the critique and rejection of the plural and cross-cutting ‘regimes of domination’ that have shaped modern politics, including the state and capitalism, race, gender and sexuality.54 This widening of the focus of the regimes of domination is an extension of the republican impulse that Proudhon developed in the mid-nineteenth century. What anarchism contributes here is a normative theory of non-domination that does not require the state for its realisation. The way Proudhon does this is to think of all social, political and economic 14 Retrieving Proudhon groups as mutually constraining (not just state-groups), to see individuality as forged within these immediate groups rather than the distant institutions of involuntary citizenship, and the radical democratisation and federation of all of these groups as the means of bringing justice and order to anarchy. Chapter summary The following chapter sets out the central problem to which this book aims to make its primary contribution: IR’s ‘anarchy problematique’.55 I argue that contemporary IR has a very limited understanding of anarchy, derived mainly from realist and Hobbesian assumptions about the chaos of egoistic individuals. Attempts to tame or move beyond anarchy, even efforts at reviving anarchism, all reject a very particular and unhelpful understanding of anarchy and thereby overlook the potential emancipatory value of the concept, hitherto clouded by its association with ‘realism’. Echoing themes that have their roots in the nineteenth century, many liberals and critical theorists base the contributions of their theories in large part on the promise of transcendence, or progress from a state of anarchy to one of transcendent order. But the contradiction at the heart of these theories mirrors that of the nineteenth century. Universality, whether liberal or Habermasian, is based on overwhelming force but is rationalised as in tune with the beat of the cosmos, while in reality, a fundamentally unjust regime of hierarchy reigns. The twin claims of providence and a rejection of the normative value of anarchy have important consequences for the use value of IR as a discipline. If the modern global order is becoming radically pluralised and the inter- national and domestic are fusing, particularly in places like the European Union, IR is threatened with becoming redundant unless IR theorists can show the value of our central concept for theorising the possibility of the good life in an anarchic world order. I will suggest that by rethinking anarchy along anarchist lines, IR has much to tell the rest of the social sciences about how order and justice can be constituted without an orderer and how anarchy can become a valuable emancipatory principle of non-domination. What I do in the two subsequent chapters is set out where this narrow and limiting vision of anarchy and providence came from. Chapter three returns to the republican debate around the unification of Italy and Poland in the nineteenth century to get a sense of Proudhon’s broad position on two of the most pressing issues of his time, while chapter four steps back and discusses the general intellectual antecedents of the broadly statist and nationalist positions Proudhon rejected. Chapter three, a broadly historical chapter, gives us a flavour of the sorts of challenges that Proudhon and his contemporaries faced. These were, inter alia, the collapse of the imperial order, the emergence of the nation state, the unification of Italy and of Poland and the likely effects each would have on the European equilibrium and working-class emancipation.  Retrieving Proudhon 15 Proudhon considered each of these processes to be inseparable from the industrialisation of the military and militarisme, a term he coined to denote the linking of the interests of the military to government and society.56 Proudhon’s political propositions and his prognostications were ignored, and yet he was largely right about what lay in store if Poland and Italy were unified – despotism. He advocated a federative principle that would institutionalise anarchy as a way of protecting the autonomy of regions and communities and institutionalising a far deeper, more three-dimensional equilibrium of power. It is the aim of the rest of the book to show why his federal position was so distinct from his statist contemporaries, and what his theory of anarchy can bring to our contemporary re-thinking of the dynamics of international relations. What is most striking is that we are today trying to think beyond the very same dynamics of statism that the anarchists campaigned against all those years ago. Chapter four turns to the epochal republican ideas of Rousseau, Kant and Comte, to get a flavour of the intellectual debates Proudhon was engaging and gain a deeper sense of the ideas that shaped the emergence of the late modern era. My aim in this chapter is to elaborate Martin Wight’s obser- vation that what characterised thinking about international relations from the late eighteenth to the mid-nineteenth century was theodicy (how to explain the existence of evil if God was all good). War and peace were the classic focus of this question and as I will show, thinking about these subjects was framed almost universally in terms of the philosophy of history. From Rousseau’s debate with Voltaire through to Kant’s critique of Rousseau and Comte’s critique of Kant in turn, what we see is the pro- gressive secularisation of theodicy. For each, history was providential and war would ultimately bring peace. Not only this, but war would also be the generative impulse for the establishment of ideal political institutions, namely republican states. While the individual inflection each gave to this debate was epochal in its own right (Rousseau the romantic, Kant the rationalist and Comte an atheist materialist), each passionately believed that the development of the ideal political subject and the ideal political institutions would be realised as a consequence of human vice. For Rousseau and Kant, our fall from grace and our human frailties would be the means through which republicanism would emerge. The principal empirical proof of this was our propensity for war and revolution which, both argued, would hurry the emergence of the state and through its federation (variously conceived) usher peace and the emergence of a rational universal political subject. Comte dismissed what he saw as Rousseau and Kant’s theological metaphysics and insisted by contrast that the ideal republican order was given in the material forces of history. War was still the means by which we would advance, but not because we were evil, but because humans are lazy. Conditions would impose upon us the imperative to develop ever more intricate means of warfare or face extermination, which would in turn necessitate ever more intricate political orders to 16 Retrieving Proudhon sustain the ideal division of labour necessary to winning such wars. Positi- vism was providentially given in the material forces of history, such that in the ideal society it should be elevated to the ‘Religion of Humanity’. Each defended a version of inter-state federalism as the primary institu- tional means of keeping states in check once history had come to an end. While Rousseau foresaw an ever closer universal federation of states, slowly expanding and integrating in ever higher unity, Kant envisioned something much looser. Where Rousseau was the inspiration for the revolutionary wars, Kant tried to bring them to an end with ‘Perpetual Peace’. His vision of a loose confederation of states was intended to secure the autonomy of states from an overweening centre. Comte, writing during the Restoration period, felt that the only firm foundation for republican international relations was for all peoples to be restored to national freedom, thus break- ing up Empire, but then linking all of Europe’s republics under a universal moral order, the positivist ‘Religion of Humanity’. For all three, the transposing of the principles of republican politics to the international order was not only a desire, but was also, they argued, inevitable. If history was to have a transcendent logic, if war and peace was to have a positive role to play in human history, then providence must inevitably see society transcend anarchy. For all three, the evolution of human history was the evolution from anarchy to the just republican political order. Proudhon, as I will show in the following three chapters, inverted this formula. In chapter five I begin by setting out Proudhon’s social theory, his ontology and epistemology. The reason we start here is that Proudhon’s republican social theory sought to ‘demonarchise the universe’ as much as dethrone the emperor, which is to say that in order to defend anarchy, he first had to show that prevailing theories of providence were flawed. Proudhon saw anarchy as our lot. There was no transcendence to be had. In order to defend the normative value of this position, he developed a radically original social theory. Proudhon sought to chart a via media between Comte’s materialism and Kant’s idealism and crafted what he called ‘ideo-realism’. His ‘revolutionary ontology’ involved an emergentist theory of social groups, where individual co-action produces group agency that is equally real. Like Kant and Comte, Proudhon also argued that social groups would inevitably clash, but saw no directionality to this clash. What guided history was the predominance and mutual balancing of forces. Justice was that system of collective reason which emerged from the confluence of history to justify a particular hegemony of material and group force. Force was therefore as central to justice as justice was to force. Proudhon argued that freedom inhered in the fullest exercise of our capacities in communion with others. What prohibited this was the twin structural alienation in modern society that inhibited human freedom – political alienation to the state and economic alienation to the proprietor. By recovering both forces, society would be radically recalibrated. Socialism was the system of collective reason that gave shape to this emergent justice.  Retrieving Proudhon 17 In this chapter I also begin an immanent critique of Proudhon’s sexism using his own theory of justice against him. My aim is to show that we can turn Proudhon’s theory back on his sexism in order to illustrate how it works and to correct his own prejudices. The following two chapters show, first how Proudhon’s La Guerre et la Paix was a case study for this philosophy of history and second how the nineteenth-century international equilibrium in anarchy provided a template for institutionalising social order as such. Proudhon argued that war is justice-making precisely because of our purposeful agency in its execution, but rather than see it as providential, Proudhon understood war to be historical proof of the underlying anarchy of human social life; life’s resistance to closure, to final orders; and yet also proof of our most con- structive and sublime natures. War was not solely a material process for Proudhon, it was also deeply moral, and as I will show, his moral phenomenological approach to war was in sharp contradistinction to the epiphenomenal approach of his contemporaries. Rather than see war as extra- or anti-social, Proudhon’s historical and sociological approach to war located it, for better and for worse, at the heart of human social evolution. The problem with Proudhon’s analysis was that it was couched in terms that were becoming incredibly unfashionable amongst the republican left. The questions Proudhon leaves us with at the end of his writings on war are: how can we overcome war? How can we give peace the positive content it so needs? How can we transform and harness the destructive urges at the heart of society to socially equitable ends? If none has history on their side and the notion of a transcendent order cannot be defended or realised, where do we find the principles that should animate social order? Chapter seven outlines Proudhon’s normative international political theory and the federative principle that unifies his earlier anarchism with his final works on mutualism. Here, Proudhon took the international anarchy for his inspira- tion and effectively inverted modern political theory in the process. Given what has been said about war, this may seem a strange thing to argue, but I hope to show it is a compelling logic. The federal institutional designs most proposed only for states in anarchy, Proudhon argues are a compelling template for organising the inter-relations of all social groups in anarchy and is the extension of the republican impulse. But central to this is ensuring that the force of social groups is the expression of their constitutive parts. Proudhon explains and defends a theory of worker self-management or autogestion, functional and direct democracy, and a de-centred theory of political equilibrium. Proudhon seeks to institutionalise what I term a three- dimensional balance of power through a horizontal and commutative theory of justice. In the conclusion I return to the question of justice, order and anarchy in IR today. I will show that Proudhon’s radically pluralist social ontology and his theory of forces suggests a novel way of conceptualising the contemporary global order around the principle of anarchy. I argue that 18 Retrieving Proudhon anarchy today runs far deeper than we assume and that the theoretical tools at our disposal for understanding how order and justice can be institutio- nalised in anarchy lie latent in contemporary IR theory and can be fleshed out and given more normative force by being linked to Proudhon’s anar- chism. My aim will be to show that IR theory, if understood as I will pre- sent it, provides a prima facie defence of anarchism, which, given IR theory’s traditional statism is something of an irony. 2 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory To suggest, as Proudhon did, that the anarchy between states might provide the template for the progressive ordering of politics as such, that is to say both ‘international’ and ‘domestic’ politics, would seem to fly in the face of nearly five centuries of thinking on the subject of politics. And yet, that is precisely the argument I will be defending in the chapters to come. Part of the reason why we do not see matters in this way already is because of what Hedley Bull called the ‘tyranny of ideas and concepts’,1 or the ossification of particular ideas and traditions of thinking in the history of ideas. This is not only a problem with the concept of anarchy, but is also the case with more conventional ideas such as liberty, republicanism democracy and so on. The standard meaning of key concepts has become entrenched over time and structures not only what we think about the present, but also shapes our readings of the past and how other people might have thought about the concept back then. Such is the dominance of contemporary concepts that the past is often skewed to fit into the contemporary, now almost intuitive categories of ‘realism’ or ‘liberalism’, or Wight’s three ‘Rs’: ‘revolutionism, rationalism and realism’.2 These constructed ‘traditions’ in the history of political thought are said to consist of a few key and perennial questions and specific means of responding to them, which distinguish them from the others. Realists are said to be statists, rationalists are legalists and the revolutionists include Kant and Lenin. Writers who do not conform to categories constructed in the present are jettisoned as irrelevant to our understanding of the past and the present, while those that exhibit contrasting positions within their works, positions that do not neatly conform to those categories, are deemed ‘contradictory’ thinkers. The upshot of all of this is anachronism, prolepsis and a mythology of doctrines that does little more than vindicate con- temporary mindsets and tells us very little indeed about the specifics of the past. Quentin Skinner has argued that given the dominance of certain para- digmatic conceptions of various concepts in the history of political ideas, ‘history can only be reinterpreted if the paradigm itself is abandoned’.3 For Skinner and the contextualist school that followed, the history of ideas as a 20 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory distinct academic practice can help us rethink the present by shedding new light on the past, by questioning our inherited categories of thought and by locating the present in a historical process which respects the specificity of the past and its inescapable role in structuring the present. But this historical recovery is only part of the endeavour. Uncovering past ideas can help make the present look strange and help us destabilise standard conceptions of various ideas and narratives, and open up the possibilities inherent in the present, which is to say combat Bull’s ‘tyranny of ideas and concepts’. Quentin Skinner puts it like this: As we analyze and reflect on our normative concepts, it is easy to become bewitched into believing that the ways of thinking about them bequeathed to us by the mainstream of our intellectual tradit- ions must be the ways of thinking about them [ … ] the history of philosophy, and perhaps more especially of moral, social and political philosophy, is there to prevent us from becoming too readily bewitched. The intellectual historian can help us to appreciate how far the values embodied in our present way of life, and our present ways of thinking about those values, reflect a series of choices made at different times between different possible worlds.4 So, bearing this methodological critique in mind, my aim in this chapter is to set out the contours of the anarchy problematique in IR. The subsequent chapters will narrate the source of this particular framing and a radical alternative to it crafted at precisely the time that our contemporary ideas first began to take shape. This alternative and its context should help us rethink the past as well as the present and what might be possible in the future. As will be well known to students of IR, the ‘anarchy problematique’ is said to consist in the political and intellectual problems that emerge from the international anarchy between states. Anarchy is the product of an absence, the lack of a world government or final authority that can authoritatively and legitimately govern the plural states of the global order. The problems of cooperation, conflict and insecurity that emerge from this condition of anarchic self-help between anthropomorphised and individ- uated states, vexes scholars. How is cooperation, order, justice, peace and so on possible in anarchy? All of these things exist together, but why? Surely, given what we think we know about anarchy, none of this should be possible. Isn’t anarchy chaos? In IR, the general conclusion is no. The mainstream of the field argue that the ‘anarchy problematique’ is two things at once: the ontological constant for those wishing to understand the relations between autonomous political units and the principal block to a better world. A better world, such that it would be possible at all, is usually seen to be predicated upon some sort of remedial presence, be that a world state,  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 21 densely interconnected institutions, socialism, feminism, etc., but not more anarchy. Critical and liberal approaches to IR have staked their credentials on their ability to show how anarchy can be tamed or transcended. But it is a narrow and debilitating understanding of anarchy that they seek to reject. For many in the discipline, the statist anarchy of the international system, as well as anarchy in general, is routinely seen as a block to progress, the dry rot of politics. For them, it is the contemporary transcendence of the traditional political architecture of world politics that promises to open up the potential for realising ever deeper conceptions of justice and order in world politics.5 But there is a paradox at the heart of this, for while we are overcoming the traditional statism bequeathed to us by the nineteenth- century order, we are nevertheless entering an ever more anarchic era. Globalisation, interdependence, and so on are not eliding anarchy, they are the expression of its extension. There are fewer final points of authority, more cross-cutting and undercutting hierarchies and levels of power, no clear delineation of roles and identities that can be routinely enforced, and while liberalism reigns supreme, everywhere the dominant ideology is challenged and rejected. Order and justice are more than ever realised in an overarching and deeper anarchy.6 As I will show, what most realist and liberal IR theorists show us is that there is really nothing to fear in anarchy itself – something anarchists have been arguing for some time now. The problem of justice and order in anarchy is confounded by critical theorists who see themselves as rectifying the problems of global order by erasing anarchy. This political project, as I will show in the following chapters, has very deep intellectual and political roots that originate in nineteenth-century providentialist republican thought. Like a stubborn dandelion, it is only by sufficiently clearing the ground around these roots that we can effectively pull them up for good. The following survey of theories of anarchy in IR is divided between what I see to be the four main thematic concerns with and approaches to this core concept. The first group sets out to defend ‘the virtues of anarchy’. A second group of theorists, have, by contrast, sought to tame anarchy, to mollify the worst excesses of the anarchy between states, or to down-play its analytical significance. A third, more critical group of scholars has sought to move international relations beyond anarchy altogether, seeing in the enduring anarchy of world politics the persistence of the problem modernity was thought to enable us to overcome. But a final group seeks to take us towards anarchism, seeing within this tradition of thought a framework to the solutions to the problems of world order. Disappointingly, few of these theorists see the analytical value of a conception of anarchy, how- ever, thereby ceding the definition of the concept to the so-called realists. This problem reaffirms the ‘realism’ of the realist way of conceptualising world politics and undercuts the emancipatory potential of anarchy, some- thing we can better appreciate with a fuller understanding of one of the first 22 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory anarchist conceptions of anarchy and international politics – the subject matter of the following chapters. ‘The virtues of anarchy’ Those that have defended the virtues of anarchy can trace their intellectual heritage to nineteenth-century conservative political thought. For example, Fredrick Von Gentz and Edmund Burke, the arch critics of the French Revolution, both saw the international society formed by the Great Powers to be deeply structured around common religious and class practices, norms of etiquette and custom that were justly hierarchical and which served to embed the virtues of the old aristocratic order while ensuring that the respective zones of imperial influence were maintained. Both believed that the defence of the autonomy of the Prussian state or British Empire (respectively) demanded the defence of the European equilibrium and therefore of anarchy. Reacting against the revolutionary followers of Rousseau, characters we will discuss in detail in the pages to come, Burke and Von Gentz argued that the balance of power ensured the liberty of states against the tyranny of the emerging Napoleonic Empire and the threat of dissolution posed by the prospect of Europe breaking up into innumerable republics.7 Given this pedigree, it is not hard to see how the defence of anarchy came to be seen as a deeply conservative position among Europe’s leading political theorists. The long peace in nineteenth-century Europe, the period of counter-revolutionary conservatism from 1815 to 1917, was seen to be predicated on the entrenchment of the autocratic orders and their mutual management of European relations, while they fought tooth and nail over their colonial possessions elsewhere. Sovereignty and the balance of power were the key doctrines used to defend autocratic and imperial privilege. After the Great War shattered the illusion that the Great Powers could be entrusted to manage the international order in the full plenitude of their sovereignty, progressive and liberal positions declaimed state sover- eignty and the scourge of anarchy that it precipitated. Goldsworthy Lowes Dickinson, John Hobson, Norman Angell, Harold Laski and innumerable other radicals, liberals and socialists each developed a variation of Rousseau’s federalist position in defence of the argument that the only solution to international anarchy was some form of federal world state at best or a league of nations in which sovereignty would be pooled, at a minimum.8 The international anarchy was the permissive cause of war, they argued, the egoism of states its motor, and the only solution was to end the international anarchy by curtailing state sovereignty through suprana- tional institutions. In the wake of the failure of the League of Nations, the onset of the Second World War and the new totalitarian ambitions of the Hitler, Stalin  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 23 and Mao, a school of thought known as realism emerged in IR which theorised anarchy less as a scourge but rather, once again, as a solution to the problems of world politics. If the Soviet ambition to universal dominium was to be checked while the sovereignty of every other state was equally guaranteed, anarchy had to be institutionalised. What IR then turned its attention to, and what gained it the moniker of an ‘American Social Science’ in Stanley Hoffman’s memorable phrase,9 was the manage- ment of anarchy and the predominance of US power therein. With the emergence of the behavioural sciences, a new idiom was found through which anarchy and US power could be understood to be in harmony with the very fabric of nature once again. While realism is a rich and diverse tradition of thinking about world politics,10 anarchy, the state and material power are at the heart of a realists’ vision of politics. The descriptive and the normative meld in the realist vision and while the emphasis may differ from one thinker to another, the core remains the same: states should/will not recognise any formal superior, they are the legitimate monopolisers of force in a given territory and their material capabilities make them the most significant actors in world politics. Any sensible theory of global order, one concerned with power, must take these facts into account or invite the charge of irrelevance at best, utopianism at worst. The balance of power, what used to be called the European equilibrium,11 is what inevitably emerges from the coactions of like units in anarchy, units that trust no one and are armed to the teeth in preparation for any eventuality. As Kenneth Waltz put it, in world politics ‘[f]ormally, each [state] is the equal of all the others. None is entitled to command; none is required to obey. International systems are decentralised and anarchic.’12 Thus, ‘[t]he problem is this: how to conceive of an order without an orderer and of organizational effects where formal organization is lacking’.13 How is it possible, Waltz asks, that despite the fact the global anarchy is populated by the most heavily armed groups in human history, order prevails? In asking this question at the height of the Cold War, Waltz was reframing a normative position that stretched back at least as far as to the Holy Alliance, as an explanatory scientific project. Animated by this anarchy problematique, IR became the disciplinary backbone of the management of Cold War bipolarity; defending international anarchy from the revolu- tionary projects of the left became the ideological and political staple of IR.14 Central to the scientific credentials of this project was the claim that anarchy was the perennial condition of politics, an empirical constant, a universal law that only those who stood against nature would seek, in futility, to overturn. For example, harking back to the teachings of that other arch conservative, the French Restoration theocrat Joseph de Maistre, the key English School theorist of International Relations, Martin Wight, claimed that the international anarchy would necessarily persist until the eschatological ‘the death of death’, the end of days.15 24 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory This conservative form of realism was articulated in its most parsimo- nious form by Kenneth Waltz. As is well known, Waltz argues that if we want to account for order in anarchy, three things matter above all others: the ordering principle of the system (anarchy, as opposed to domestic hierarchy), the functional similarity of the units (the sovereign equality of states) and the distribution of material capabilities (power) across the system. Waltz argued that identical units, differentially endowed and recognising no superior will not inevitably go to war with one another. While anarchy is permissive of war, it is equally permissive of order and so something else must be keeping states from each other’s throats. For Waltz, like those who preceded him, the answer lies in the emergent balance of power. States balance against one another, others ‘bandwagon’ with great powers, or form mini and regional alliances in order that no one state predominates. These are all defensive strategies but they are forced upon states by virtue of the structure within which they find themselves – anarchy and self-help. There is little in Waltz to explain where this system came from, but there is a plentiful discussion of its relative ‘virtues’ going forward. Waltz argued that anarchy ensures that no state dominates the international system, that all retain their liberty vis-à-vis one another. State autonomy and sovereign independence give groups of peoples within states the opportunity to coordinate their actions in relation to one another and to thereby be lifted ‘out of nature’s realm’. By having to ‘do it themselves’, so to speak, by being forced to be free and thereby having to respond actively and efficiently to external pressures, states build up their internal capacities and the best internal form of political order is the one that allows the political community to best respond to the structural pressures imposed by a system of anarchy. In a nuclear age, system transformation is unlikely because the costs are so high and so system management is the core priority of a realistic IR theory. As Waltz put it: ‘[t]he prospect of world government would be an invitation to prepare for world civil war’, and the greater the need to defend this world state, the more concentrated power will become at the centre and the greater the prize for any would-be revisionary states. Thus, what Waltz calls ‘the virtues of anarchy’ revolve around the defence of autonomy: ‘[i]f freedom is wanted, insecurity must be accepted.’16 Hedley Bull’s notion of the Anarchical Society is predicated on much the same political project but the theory of anarchy is far more developed. Anarchy, far from being an asocial, materialist and value-free zone, has social qualities; qualities that explicitly hark back to the writings of Grotius, Burke and Von Gentz, amongst others.17 Like his conservative forbears, Bull saw anarchy as a social realm, replete with its own customs, etiquettes of diplomacy and institutions of law and norms of right conduct. While also interested in how order is possible in anarchy, Bull understands order in far richer ways. ‘By order’, he began, ‘I mean a pattern of human activity  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 25 that sustains elementary, primary or universal goals of social life’, and for him this meant the defence of ‘life, truth, property’.18 Different societies realise their particular social forms in different ways and each seeks out the good in terms relative to their own internal settlement on these three issues. Bull is also careful to avoid the assumption that the possibility of society depends on the following of imposed rules. As he puts it: ‘I believe order in social life can exist in principle without rules, and that it is best to treat rules as widespread, and nearly ubiquitous, means of creating order in human society, rather than part of the definition of order itself.’19 The reason is clear. The protection of the autonomy of political communities is predicated on anarchy and if one were to equate order with formal rules and author- itative enforcement mechanisms, then global order in the 1970s would have been inexplicable. One of the principal reasons for this framing relates to Bull’s famous rejection of the ‘domestic analogy’ whereby, it is argued, the only solution to the problem of war is to force all states to submit to a common power in the same manner that all individuals are forced to submit at the domestic level. Bull rejects this, following Hobbes, by arguing that ‘anarchy among states is tolerable to a degree to which between individuals it is not’.20 Bull argues that any attempt to force states to submit to a common power would not resolve the problem of order, but would simply recast it, whereas forcing individuals to submit uniformly solves this problem. Domination within states is the price we pay for liberty between them. For Bull and Waltz, the liberty of states is central to the possibility of order. Like for Von Gentz, the primary means to this end was the balance of power, the structural chassis or ‘master institution’ of global politics. Without this balance, which is to say the defence of the autonomy of states from the encroachments of other states, all the other plural freedoms we take for granted would be impossible. For Bull, anarchy and the balance of power protect and underpin territorial sovereignty, the functioning of inter- national treaty law, diplomacy and international trade. The anarchical society was the cradle of (global) justice. Because of the insights afforded by his historical and sociological framing of these issues, Bull was able to envision a future in which this categorical distinction between domestic and international might break down and where anarchy might be transcended. Looking to the then nascent European Economic Community (EEC) for inspiration, Bull argued that it was possi- ble to foresee a time in which the erosion of sovereignty and the thawing of relations between the regional power blocks would see inter-state relations change. At this time, when ‘the tyranny of existing concepts and practices’ had given way to a new praxis of international relations, we could see the emergence of neo-medieval political orders, where multiple points of authority overlapped, sat alongside and undercut the state. Following Burke, again, Bull assumed that such a system would only be realised through the extension and embedding of a common, cosmopolitan intellectual culture, 26 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory one that existed only at the elite level, he lamented, but was likely to drive forward global social change in the future.21 To reiterate, social change should not be driven from the bottom upwards, but only as an elite project, lest the tenuous order established between the great powers break down. Bull assumed that revolution would lead to the disruption of the balance of power, potentially pitching states into war and disrupting the institutional balance through which change had to take place – his argument against the boycotting of Apartheid and his concerns that the African National Congress (ANC) would align with the Soviets is a case in point. The global order depended on Western values and only through elite bargaining and the maintenance of hierarchy and order within the state could social change be guaranteed that would avoid global conflagration. The end of the Cold War witnessed, for the first time in modern history, fundamental system change without major war between the great powers. The EEC has been transformed into the European Union (EU), now com- prised of 27 states and counting, and the centre of political gravity is shifting away from the West, towards both East and South. The International Criminal Court and the human rights regime have transformed the concept of legal redress, while globalisation and environmental collapse have replaced bipolarity and nuclear Armageddon as the new threats that link us all. It is in this context that Mervyn Frost has suggested a different way of conceptualising the potential virtues of anarchy. Rather than only one, Frost argues that there are now two foundational anarchic practices on which the moral value of modern global society is based. The first anarchic practice is a communitarian one between sovereign states, and the second is the cosmopolitan anarchy of rights-bearing individuals within global civil society, constituted and defended through the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In this latter realm of social activity, autonomous rights- bearing individuals pursue their conceptions of the good in a realm of civic freedom outside and alongside the state and can find redress through the global human rights regime and the International Criminal Court (ICC). Frost extends the discussion of the virtues of anarchy in important ways.22 Like Waltz and Bull, Frost argues that anarchical societies defend and ‘nurture’ inter-state pluralism, but that it is high time this pluralism was extended to include rights-bearing individuals too. Frost also concurs with Waltz that since anarchies have no centralised command structure, they are invulnerable to capture, defeat or coercion. He defends the position that in anarchy the defence of the autonomy of the self is the defence of the autonomy of each, and he agrees with Bull in that anarchy constitutes individuals and states as equally free, rights-bearers rather than simply rational egoists precisely because of the plethora of institutions that exist to defend this moral autonomy. Frost suggests that anarchy must be defended for the reason that without it, reciprocal freedoms based on the recognition of moral  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 27 equivalence would be impossible at the inter-state and inter-citizen level. This defence of anarchy, he argues, is at the heart of both collective security and the human rights regime. Frost makes four further points that Bull and Waltz do not. First, ‘experimentation and development’ are de rigueur in anarchies since no single blueprint is imposed from above. Moreover, anarchies have no admission procedures. All that is required is that the individual or state constitute itself as autonomous and agree to the unavoidable principle that the autonomy of one is the precondition of the autonomy of all. Finally, anarchies are also directly participatory and change occurs incrementally dependent on autonomous, self-directed action. These are all good things in Frost’s view. Finally, unlike more established eschatological or liberal and Whig philosophies of history, Frost argues that ‘[a]n arrangement which grants autonomy to its units is not well suited to putting any single vision of the good into practice’.23 Anarchy is valuable because it does not permit of totalising visions of the good life. To conclude this section, Waltz, Bull and Frost represent three very well- known voices in IR and as should be clear, they have developed a quite unique idiom in the more general ‘political discourse of anarchy’. Their positions are not unique and they are fairly widely supported. The simple message is that anarchy has significant virtues and ought to be defended. The conundrum for us is that these are deeply conservative visions of anarchy and they have generated considerable critique precisely for these reasons. Were it not for the largely statist ontology, it is even hard to imagine that many anarchists would disagree with these arguments. But this statism is a huge problem and one which the rest of IR also has a problem with. The question is whether the solutions to the problem of anarchy are better than the problem itself ? Taming anarchy The distance between realists and liberals in IR is not great and for the purposes of this chapter I will presume that liberals provide a development of realism rather than some paradigmatic alternative. Where realists, parti- cularly the new realists of the late 1970s and 1980s, saw the condition of anarchy as limiting the possibilities for cooperation in international politics, the liberals countered that in spite of anarchy and without dis- regarding the analytical centrality of the state to international relations, formally non-hierarchical inter-governmental organisations stabilise the international order in ways which do not necessitate the focus on military power and balancing tactics by states. Moreover, international organisat- ions do not curtail the formal autonomy of states, meaning that despite anarchy, cooperation and order is possible in the here and now. Whereas for the realists, the core determinant of order in anarchy was the mutual balancing of material capabilities, for liberals, ‘institutions matter’. 28 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory What distinguished the liberals of the 1920s and 1930s, Lowes Dickinson and Angell for example, from their more recent counterparts, was that the latter did not seek to curtail state sovereignty and thereby erase anarchy.24 Rather, the new liberals that emerged in the late 1980s sought to square inter-state anarchy with the institutions of the global order such that the autonomy of states could be preserved within an institutional archi- tecture that would enable cooperation and a progressive world order. In this sense, the liberals of the latter half of the twentieth century were closer to Woodrow Wilson. What distinguished Wilson from Angell was the belief that self-determining and liberal republican nation states were the appro- priate political subjects of anarchy. Moreover, international organisations like the League of Nations and the UN, and less formal regimes, principally capitalism, were central to order and would, it was posited, tame anarchy – if not erase it altogether. Of the works in the latter half of the twentieth century that made the most impact on these debates, Axelrod and Keohane’s ‘Achieving Cooperation Under Anarchy: Strategies and Institutions’, and Keohane’s discipline- shaping work After Hegemony are two key reference points.25 In the former, the authors question the argument, drawn from game-theoretic modelling of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, that cooperation under anarchy is not a stable strategy due to the short-term benefits of defection that are structured into anarchic self-help systems. The traditional model seemed to demonstrate that defection in self-help systems produced immediate pay-offs, thus under- mining cooperative behaviours and seemingly justifying isolationism, unilateralism and power politics. But Axelrod and Keohane argued that under conditions of even minimal communication and ‘repeat plays’, assuming that actors will come into contact with one another again and can talk to one another, cooperation can emerge and is the most stable strategy even if actors only follow simple tit-for-tat strategies of reciprocity. That is to say that if states recognise that they have diplomatic channels and pursue only minimal like-for-like interactions, game theory suggests that coopera- tion is a stable strategy and can mitigate the problems of cooperating in anarchy, without undermining the autonomy of states. Throw stable institutions into the mix, the likes of capitalism, the UN, Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and so on, and the transaction costs of cooperation are off-set by the memory and learning that is institutionalised, and the practices that are protected and embedded, or by repeat contact with foreign elites. And all of this can and does take place in anarchy. There is no need for a world state to reduce the inconveniences of anarchy: formally non- hierarchical, treaty-based, inter-governmental institutions will do. The more modest liberal theorists make no explicit normative claims regarding the possibility of transcending anarchy. Most, like Keohane, argue that anarchy will remain a structural feature of world politics for the fore- seeable future. Rather than appeal to the standard liberal eschatology  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 29 to explain or predict the future world order, liberals of this less explicitly normative variety simply argue that it is time to ditch the concept of anar- chy altogether. Analytically, in a highly institutionalised, Western-dominated global order, interdependence was seen to be a more appropriate focus for the discipline.26 Defending a neo-liberal hegemony is the new conservatism. In an important piece in which she took on standard conceptions of anarchy directly, Helen Milner argued that IR needed to rethink the concept and its centrality to international politics or risk further dislocation from the rest of the field of political science.27 Milner’s argument was that IR theorists, both liberal and (neo)realist had been too quick to assert the centrality of anarchy to everything they sought to explain. Anarchy, she argued, was relatively indeterminate, anarchy itself did not do anything. Yet, it provided the permissive context for everything. Thus, why anarchy should be any better an explanation for power politics than any other form of human interaction was not entirely clear. Moreover, from the late 1980s, it had become clear that forces other than power politics were shaping the global order – in particular, capitalism. Milner argued that what characterised international relations in this context was ‘strategic interdependence’ between a plurality of actors across multiple levels and numerous planes of social and political life. What this interdependence also demanded was a reconsideration of some of the core theoretical assumptions of the field, principally the rather over- simplistic, anthropomorphic, methodologically individualist theory of the state that the likes of Waltz and others took for granted. Milner began with Waltz’s notion that what characterised sovereign polities was formal hierarchy with a clear final point of authority and the converse supposition that anarchies are hierarchy-free. Milner pointed out, not unreasonably, that hierarchy has been at least as persistent a feature of the international order as anarchy and, we might add, that most polities are managed anarchies. For example, the diverse locations of sovereignty across many states suggest that it is not always clear that hierarchy is the dominant organising principle in domestic politics. Republican and federal states in particular have complex structures of rule and authority that cannot be reduced to simplistic binaries of hierarchy and anarchy. Many of Milner’s contemporaries joined her in pointing out that in the emerging European Economic Community it was not at all clear where sovereignty resides either.28 Today, the EU has a multitude of competing constituencies formally represented, from national and poli- tical to linguistic groups; competencies for policy domains divided across committees; and a complex plethora of checks and balances on executive power, from the EU parliament through to the European Court of Justice, national parliaments, civil society oversight, regional representation, and so on. The EU is criss-crossed with a plethora of institutions and power is exercised at multiple levels and in multiple directions, not all of which are vertical. 30 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory Milner also took issue with Weberian definitions of the state that perme- ate realist thinking. The notion that states monopolise force is anachronistic and unhelpful. In the history and practice of politics, this has rarely been the case. From the constitutional right to bear arms in the US and Switzerland, to the right of rebellion from Locke to the Civil Rights movement in the 1960s, from colonialism to the Arab Uprisings and the emergence of the doctrine of ‘Responsibility to Protect’, the legitimacy of the use of force is always relative to a number of different political factors. A monopoly is meaningless in the context of the inability to deploy it, and the ability to deploy force says nothing of its legitimacy. As a working hypothesis then, Weber’s ‘ideal type’ hinders more than it helps. Given these and a number of other crucial insights, Milner argues that a focus on interdependence (as opposed to anarchy) might better help link IR back into political science precisely because the focus on anarchy has been too narrow, thereby failing to convince scholars of comparative politics and others in cognate disciplines that mainstream IR has an adequate grasp of the realities of global life. While Milner is cautious not to argue that the anarchy between states is analytically redundant, she is clear that it is certainly not invaluable to explaining global order. Rather, what explains order in anarchy is interdependence, not a brute balance of power, and this interdependence is constituted and embedded in and through institutions and regimes. The paradox at the heart of the liberal and comparativist theory is that by positing plural regimes of power and order, interdependence and coop- eration, the late modern condition becomes marked by more, not less, anarchy. The empirical disaggregation of the state and the emergence of cross-cutting points of power radically pluralises the global order. Anarchy becomes more not less prevalent, and yet, in spite of this, order persists. Moreover, as Axelrod and Keohane argued, there is also more than just a suggestion that even without institutions anarchy and cooperation are con- ducive to one another rather than antithetical. The question then becomes not whether institutions matter, but which institutions matter most and might alternative ones be a better source of justice and order in anarchy? Beyond anarchy Beate Jahn has persuasively argued that nothing in liberal accounts of world order suggests any more than the empirical argument that liberalism is hegemonic.29 When Milner claims that anarchy can be dismissed as an analytical category, this is because she is able to describe a world order almost entirely dominated by the United States. Second, insofar as liberalism as a theory claims to have universal and objective applicability, somehow reflecting the underlying laws of history, it thereby exposes itself as the reigning ideology of the most powerful. It is here that we find IR theorists claiming we have moved beyond anarchy. On the one hand liberals  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 31 claim that we have moved to a universal liberal order, while on the other, Marxist critical theorists claim that we can move beyond anarchy. Interest- ingly, with the collapse of orthodox Marxism in the late 1980s and the emergence of a Habaermasian critical IR theory, what we find is that the eschatological claims of the most vulgar liberalism have been adopted by the new critical theorists in IR. For vulgar liberals and critical theorists, the move beyond anarchy is the promise they hold out for the praxis of world politics. However, both arguably engage a conception of anarchy that is almost entirely ‘realist’ in origin, and both hark back to Kantian con- ceptions of transcendence which it is the purpose of the rest of this book to question. But neither the liberals nor the critical theorists can efface anarchy and always remain open to the historicist critique of the Marxists or the realist appeal to material power and the ‘virtues of anarchy’ in world politics. Vulgar liberalism has innumerable buglers, and only a few can be mentioned here. For example, Michael Doyle’s re-statement of the Kantian liberal peace thesis posited law-like relations between the spread of liberal republican states and the zone of peace that was said to emerge between them. In the aftermath of the Cold War and the seeming triumph of liberal democracy, Francis Fukuyama argued that we had subsequently reached ‘the end of history’. Such is now the hegemony of liberal ideas that the mainstream peacebuilding literatures proposed the replication of liberal states, with the attendant institutions of democracy, free trade and the rule of law presented as a universal panacea for post-conflict states and a template for UN peacebuilding missions worldwide. And finally, the dom- inance of US power and the global institutionalisation of US values has led John Ikenberry to claim that we are fast approaching a world order in which Western values are so globally entrenched that sovereignty is transformed into a liberal neo-medieval order, with institutional integration consolidated through dense inter-connections between networks of power rather than by states. This ‘Liberalism 3.0’ is considered a huge advance on previous incarnations of liberalism because it promises to transcend the legacy of formal anarchy and functional hierarchy of the Wilsonian liberal era for good, uniting the world under the new global religion of liberalism.30 Even liberal scientific realism, particularly of the variety developed by Alexander Wendt, results in a eschatological and providentialist account of the inevitable ascendency of liberalism and ultimately a liberal world state.31 His position was that if anarchy is indeterminate, outcomes like cooperation or war cannot be predicted merely on the basis of the a priori postulate of the absence of an orderer. While Wendt’s statism is admittedly ‘depressingly familiar’, his key insight for our purposes was to show that actors’ identities as friend or foe are socially constructed rather than materially given, and that shared identities lead to stable interaction. Anarchy matters not, it is ultimately ‘what states make of it’.32 What is made clearest by Wendt is that anarchy is not an asocial realm of human activity. Nor is anarchy 32 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory necessarily a domain of brutality any more than it is necessarily the domain of all human happiness. What really matters are the ways in which actors relate to one another and the cultural norms that can and do emerge through processes of interaction. For anarchists, Wendt’s theory of anarchy is, on the face of it, instructive, since he shows how anarchy develops distinct cultures dependent on the mutual constitution of the particular identities of the agents that constitute that anarchy. However, in an important addendum to this theory, Wendt argues that anarchies inevitably progress through three distinct cultural forms, Hobbesian, Lockean and Kantian. Where the first is dominated by mistrust, with the emergence of simple rules cooperation becomes possible, until the drive to mutual identification and recognition that emerges from the close interactions of like-minded states, endowed like persons with identities prior to and constituted through interaction, develops into a Kantian world state. Anarchy is not to be feared since it is but a temporary staging post on the path to nirvana. Another alternative way of approaching this issue can be found in the recent, highly acclaimed work of Daniel Deudney.33 Deudney distinguishes between two types of anarchy: pre-state and interstate. In the pre-state anarchy, violence is endemic because there are no mutual constraints to restrain the Hobbesian condition of the ‘war of each against all’. With the emergence of modern republics, this anarchy was overcome. The interstate anarchy, by contrast, is a protean republican security community. Linking directly into the tradition of republican political theory, an alternative account of which will be discussed in the next two chapters, Deudney argues that the state provides a system of mutually agreed and mutually constrain- ing laws to protect and enable citizens. Power is diversified and checks and balances instituted to protect autonomy and establish order. One of the key differences between Deudney and Wendt is this pluralist (as opposed to Hegelian) vision of the state, which translates almost entirely to his vision for global order. Since Deudney theorises the state as an institutionalised constellation of powers, rather than as ‘a person’ as in Wendt’s theory, the possibility of decentred global coordination of power becomes a distinct possibility, whereas in Wendt’s Hegelian theory, only states can be moral actors in world politics. For Deudney, the republican tradition suggests that anarchy can be overcome through mutual relations of balancing rather than predominance. For example, the people balance the power of the government, while the liberty of the executive and judiciary are central to notions of individual liberty from the state, and so on. The state is a particular institutionalised balance of power between society’s plural groups.34 Likewise, in international relations, anarchy can be over- come by a corresponding ‘distinctive republican structural form’ which he terms negarchy, a concept which ‘captures the full and rounded restraints, or negatives, in republican political associations’.35 The value of negarchy domestically is that it equally denies anarchy, oligarchy, hierarchy,  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 33 aristocracy and monarchy and constrains the majority from dominating the minority. Internationally, negarchy captures the political institutionalisation of the pluralism that Milner identified and which theorists of globalisation have highlighted over the past 20 years. When we understand the state and global order in this way, ‘republican security theory sees “balances all the way up and down”, and conceptualises “balance of power” phenomena operating both internally and externally’ to states.36 This framing is inter- esting because in seemingly moving beyond anarchy, Deudney brings us closest of all contemporary IR theorists to precisely the plan that Proudhon developed all those years ago. Which begs the question of whether the neologism was necessary? Wouldn’t ‘anarchy’ do? Clearly, the problem lies in the baggage that comes with disciplinary conceptions of the concept. Deudney was forced to invent a new term to describe order without an orderer, when anarchy would do just as well. What distinguishes Proudhon from Deudney most clearly, and what ultimately places Deudney in the liberal camp, is that Deudney has very little to say about the dominating effects of capitalism and the institutional means for limiting the power of capital through republican means.37 While Deudney is surely right that actually existing Marxist polities were and are unable to institutionalise non-domination, what liberals also miss are the relations of domination that inhere directly to the private possession of property and the social relations surrounding this. This critique is absent in Deudney, but it is central to Proudhon’s anarchism. However, the critique of capitalism in Marxist IR theory also points towards the transcendence of anarchy. For example, Justin Rosenberg has argued that the emergence of capitalism was intimately connected to the entrenching of anarchy between states in the international order.38 The formalised anarchy between states, or the empire of civil society, was the precondition of the anarchy of the market constituted by the unfettered relations of capitalists. For Rosenberg, while anarchy is ‘the central preoccupation of modern social thought’,39 it is peculiar only to ‘the char- acteristic social form of capitalist modernity’:40 transcend capitalism and anarchy will be transcended too, or so it is claimed. In an attempt to move beyond the crude materialism and the overly narrow focus on class and production in Marxist social theory, critical theorists in IR turned to a variety of neo-Kantian social theory identified most clearly with the work of Jürgen Habermas.41 Developing insights from Habermas’s work, critical theorists in IR undertake two moves at once. For example, Linklater argues that the primary failing of neo-Kantian republican theory is that the ‘extension of state power in the latter part of the nineteenth cen- tury revealed the limitations of their analyses’.42 The European nation state failed to live up to the expectations of theory. Thus, while neo-Kantian critical theorists retain a conception of a universal political subject, they refuse to disaggregate this subjectivity into constituent states. The individual is universal and the universal that is humanity is one. Given the progressivist 34 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory or providentialist philosophy of history that this presupposes, it would have been difficult to assume that the solution to the problems of anarchy that the realists highlighted might be found in the distant past. Linklater, for his part, followed Bull in arguing that neo-medieval orders and the supra national institutionalisation of Europe promised to reconcile the universal subject within a more responsive institutional particularism. Thus, the development of multi-level governance, regionalism, the complex horizontal and vertical institutions of the EU were seen to anticipate a more complete conception of cosmopolitan citizenship and the transcendence of anarchy. As we can see, this move away from the traditional concerns with class and power by critical IR theorists has moved them far closer to the liberals of which Marx was such a vociferous critic. What was gained, however, was a neo-Kantian idiom that made up for the moral gap at the heart of modern Marxism, particularly around questions of individual autonomy and issues of dialogue and the innumerable zones of exclusion, other than class, that structure and shape world politics. Likewise, Linklater was concerned to provide a robust critique of the so-called ‘immutability thesis’43 that characterised realist thought, but in the process capitulated to the seemingly irresistible lure of liberal eschatology. This was of course always latent in Marxism, but without the concomitant critique of class and bourgeois property and productive relations, Jahn is surely right that critical IR theory provides little that is truly critical.44 What will become clearer in the pages that follow is that anarchism provides precisely the idiom that would have allowed critical theorists to move beyond the economism of Marxism without having to genuflect before the eschatology of liberalism. Linklater did come close and is to be applauded for being one of the very few in IR to call for a turn to anarchism, a tradition of thought that, as he rightly points out has ‘has long-argued for despatching state monopoly powers to local communities and transnational agencies in order to recover the potentials for universality and difference which were stifled by the rise of the modern territorial state’. He argued that this body of literature might well help us think through the new problems of citizenship, community, universality and difference in this ‘post-Westphalian era’.45 But such is the historiography of the left and the dominance of particular conceptions of anarchy in IR, few others have heeded this call and looked here for intellectual nourishment.46 Finally, for feminist IR theorists, the standard bifurcation between inter- national and domestic is not only constitutive of the naturalisation of anarchy, but it is also reflective of the traditional bifurcation of domestic and public in traditional masculinist political theory. Along both axes, women’s experiences are ignored at best and their active oppression institutionalised at worst. Furthermore, feminists see anarchy as the specific context in which privileged white men find themselves, rather than a  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 35 transcendent international political problematique with ineluctable universal constraints.47 By contrast, when we ask ‘where are the women?’ and we look at international relations from the standpoint of women, a very different picture of world politics emerges, one in which women are routinely found to be working in the lowest paid and most insecure work and where the domination of women is central to maintaining the impression that the social world is ‘naturally’ bifurcated along the axes of domestic/public, hierarchy/anarchy. Cynthia Enloe’s discussion of the role of diplomatic wives, of prostitution around military bases, of female sweatshop workers producing consumer goods and so on, all graphically illustrate these relationships and have become iconic images of power in the contemporary study of world politics.48 As Enloe put it, what is most striking about mainstream politics is ‘how far authors are willing to go in underestimating the amounts and varieties of power it takes to form and sustain any given set of relationships between states’.49 For all the benefits of this account, anarchy remains a masculinist practice or a pernicious distraction from the real issues facing women today. By equalising or reframing the analysis, anarchy either drops out or is transcended. This is unfortunate, because again, anarchy is equated with a very limited realist and liberal view of the same; it does not appear to many that it might be thought of as part of the solution to the problem of gender inequality. What I will show in chapter five is that it did not occur to Proudhon that anarchy might have an emancipatory role to play in this domain either. Towards anarchism What we find with those theorists who have veered closest to anarchism is that they have ultimately pulled their punches. Anarchy has such deeply rooted negative connotations that even those who actively call for a turn to anarchism, even the most prominent anarchist on the planet, seem unwilling to argue that anarchy might be a useful concept in an anarchistic inter- national political theory. While we will close this discussion with a brief engagement with Noam Chomsky, I begin with an analysis of post- structuralist IR theory and then turn to those other than Linklater who have called for a turn to anarchism in IR. Richard Ashley’s deconstruction of the anarchy problematique in 1988 took on the two standard assumptions central to mainstream IR theory. The realists assumed that anarchy was natural, inevitable or given in the structures of geopolitics and thus the framing for any realistic approach to international affairs.50 His deconstruction of this debate revealed two surprising insights. First, that what was considered natural by realists was as much a textual strategy and a rhetorical act as a description of the world ‘out there’ – if not more so. The fact that reality was inevitably framed through textual strategies of signification and resignification suggested that reality itself was little more than an assemblage of texts and interpretations. 36 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory There was no foundational order underlying even our most stable of repre- sentations. Anarchy is the underlying condition of life because ‘reality’ cannot be grounded on epistemologically stable foundations. Consequently, anarchy was more extensive and all-pervasive than the vast majority of IR theorists had typically been willing to accept. Like the wider modern discourses of science and society, of which it was a part, IR theory was cast by Ashley as being principally concerned with taming this radical contingency, bringing order to anarchy through the ‘heroic practice’ of settling discourses with appeals to certainty and ‘realism’, affirming an underlying order using game theory and through moralistic appeals to institutions, in order to show the epic scale of the task IR theorists set themselves – taming modernity itself. Anarchy ‘signifies a problematic domain yet to be brought under the controlling influence of a sovereign centre’.51 Whether sovereignty was of an epistemological kind, the sover- eignty of reason, for example, or of an ontological kind in state sovereignty, the two were ultimately united in the fidelity to the state as the ultimate reference point around which order might be made to turn. But from the poststructuralist perspective, IR was, like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills. By dislodging the centrality of the sovereign, by distinguishing between the pure, de jure realm and the de facto anarchy of political life, the heroic practice that Ashley highlights becomes the practice of politics as such. Anarchy becomes part of political life, something we face daily, rather than something which exists only out there, between states. Anarchy is analyti- cally prior to order and politics. But what the poststructuralists failed to do was to link this analysis to a coherent politics and praxis. Poststructuralist theory tended to quietism believing that the imposition of visions of order would be to admit to hypocrisy and the re-imposition of totalising dis- courses. Having set out the nature of the problem, there seemed few grounds on which to chart a way forward since to do so would be to inscribe politics with new, totalising foundations, thereby re-inscribing the very pathology identified at the heart of modernity. This situation was no doubt compounded by the writings of post- structuralist anarchists who suggested that there was nothing of value to be found in the theories of the classical anarchists because these early modern naïfs were classed as essentialists, foundationalists, rationalists and positivists.52 Textual evidence to support such claims was tenuous if not non-existent and has roused serious controversy, but few have thought to revisit the nineteenth-century anarchists in any sustained manner.53 What I will show in the chapters to follow is that Proudhon was dealing with precisely this epistemological conundrum and the politics of progress that emerged from it. That he did so through an analysis of the machina- tions of states ought to be all the more interesting for an IR audience. But before we get to Proudhon it is important to set out the implications of the poststructuralist position in a little more detail. If world politics is more complex than we thought; if, today, there are many more centres of  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 37 power, historical processes more fluid, and our representations of the natur- alness of ‘the international’ less stable than we had assumed, then anarchy has become more not less acute. Taking poststructuralist IR theory seriously entails the recognition that all our representations of ‘the global’ are ultimately foundationless, meaning that they rest on nothing more than webs of signification. Anarchy reigns. Attempts to impose political order merely displace anarchy elsewhere, either ‘upwards’ to the international anarchy, or ‘out there’ to the margins, those zones occupied by the down- trodden and exiled, the domain of the private, a nightmarish place when cast in this light.54 Politics is not constituted by or through the formal institutions of the state but by the competing relations of plural groups and axes of power across innumerable planes. Life without the state is not only possible, but the norm for huge swathes of the planet’s population.55 And yet when critical scholars have turned to anarchism for inspiration for thinking through the problems of the contemporary historical juncture, anarchy is routinely abandoned as a core concept. For example, in the 1970s, Thomas Weiss and Richard Falk, two of today’s most prominent IR scholars, called for a revisiting of classical anarchism for insight and inspiration in the fight against the emerging democratic deficit at the heart of the rising neoliberal international order.56 For both, anarchism had the critical tools to lay bare the conceit at the heart of world order projects that suggested that benefits to all would naturally accrue if the direction of world order could be left in the hands of the few. These critiques spoke directly to the liberal institutionalists of the time, but were, evidently, ignored. Because they did not speak to anarchists either, refusing, that is, to develop a fuller theory of anarchy, none picked up this line of argument. Falk has since revisited his anarchist inclinations but called for ‘anarchism without “anarchism”’. Non-violent anarchism has much to offer in the post-Marxist age, especially in relation to small-scale organisation, local autonomy and self-determination. But ‘unfortunately the language and cultural associations of the anarchist legacy are so misleading and diversionary as to make an embrace of anarchism a disempowering intellectual and political option in any public discourse’.57 The closer we get to anarchism in IR, it seems the harder it becomes to embrace anarchy, and the closer we get to anarchy, the harder it is to turn to anarchism. The problem is compounded when anarchist scholars turn their guns on the realists. Consider, for example, Scott Turner, who has also recently called for a re-evaluation of the centrality of the ‘Hobbesian’ tradition in IR, arguing that the vision of anarchy that underpins it is unnecessarily pessimistic regarding the prospects for cooperation and that the view from anarchism, informed by Kropotkin’s ‘mutual aid’, is a much more realistic account of political order.58 Ironically, Turner replaces one anarchy with another, that is to say, he replaces Hobbes’s vision with Kropotkin’s, and argues that if we see global civil society and a complex constellation of voluntary associations as the primary political units in IR, and the state 38 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory as the primary means through which society is de-stabilised, then we can envisage new sources of order for the anarchist future to come. Realist anarchy drops out of this analysis but a new anarchist anarchy is promoted. The question is, to what extent are they different? Is the one without the other a fantasy? Would not anarchist communities face the same insecurities that states do? Would anarchist communities not be even more vulnerable to predation than states given that they are on the whole non-violent? Of all the attempts in IR to link the discipline to an anarchist conception of anarchy, Ken Booth’s E. H. Carr Professorial Address at the University of Wales, Aberystwyth in 1991, came closest to mapping out the solution. Booth looked to reconcile traditional realism with utopianism, think E. H. Carr’s realism further than he would have countenanced and with the benefit of the context of the threat of nuclear armageddon posed by modern states. He argued that if we value the individual as an end in herself, as modern liberals say we should, and accept that historically the state has been the single greatest threat to the security of individuals without exception, then perhaps it is time to start reassessing our basic assumptions. Booth put it like this: ‘anarchy’ or absence of government in the states system becomes less of a problem than the ‘statism’ – the concentration of all power and loyalty on the state – that has typified much of the twentieth century. To achieve security in anarchy, it is necessary to go beyond Bull’s ‘anarchical society’ of states to an anarchical global ‘community of communities’. Anarchy thus becomes the framework for thinking about the solutions to global problems, not the essence of the problem to be overcome. This would be a much messier political world than the states system, but it should offer better prospects for the emancipation of individuals and groups, and it should therefore be more secure.59 Few have taken up this challenge to think through the implications of this understanding of anarchy for our standard conception of justice and order in IR. One person who more than any other could have set out precisely how we might think about world politics without states and who has spent his adult life (and part of his adolescence) declaiming the malfeasance of states, is the world’s most famous public intellectual: Noam Chomsky. Not only is he centrally concerned with the way in which states, particularly the US, exacerbate insecurity in world politics, but he is also an anarchist. One would therefore be forgiven for thinking that perhaps Chomsky has something to say to the question of anarchy and anarchism in international relations and we might be forgiven for thinking that others have engaged his writings in the discipline, given his public presence and his prolific output.60 But Chomsky’s anarchism, his rejection of theory and his trenchant critique of the fawning tendencies of IR theorists when it comes to US power (or any  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 39 power for that matter) have alienated him from even the critical wings of political science.61 As Chomsky put it: world affairs are trivial: there’s nothing in the social sciences or history or whatever that is beyond the intellectual capacities of an ordinary fifteen year old. You have to do a little work, you have to do some reading, you have to be able to think, but there’s nothing deep – if there are any theories around that require some special kind of training to understand, then they’ve been kept a closely guarded secret.62 Linking global anarchy to anarchism is not possible using Chomsky’s work. Clearly, giving a sociological account for his absence is beyond the purview of this chapter, but the implications of Chomsky’s absence for the argument being advanced here are that if the arch anarchist critic of US power rejects theory, and his absence on IR curricula might suggest he has nothing to offer the theory of IR, the assumption is surely that anar- chism has little to offer IR and the definition of anarchy is consequently ceded to the ‘realists’. Conclusion I began this chapter by arguing that a first step in unsettling our standard conceptions of key concepts in the history of political thought is to set out the ‘state of play’, to illuminate the problem such that we might be able to try and find an alternative. What I have also done in the process of this exegesis of the anarchy problematique is hint that IR theory has a strange paradox at its heart. On the one hand, IR theorists declaim, lament or try to tame anarchy, but ironically those very same theorists have been developing a proto-anarchist theory of global order since the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. On the other hand, but with the notable exception of Ken Booth, those that have sought to move us towards anarchism have perhaps done more than the others to suggest that anarchy can have no role to play in our theorisation of emancipation in world politics. This is a bizarre contradiction that is, I would argue, best explained by the fact that conceptions of anarchy have ossified around realist theories thereof. In short, none have yet sought to think through the potential benefit of rethinking anarchy using anarchism. This is the role of the following chapters. It is probably worth noting a couple more surprising facts thrown up by the foregoing analysis. First of all, some IR theorists have demonstrated that on the face of it there is nothing to be feared from anarchy. Realists and liberals alike have recognised that the most heavily armed groups in human history are able to order their activities in anarchy and institutions and norms of justice have emerged to that end. At a very basic level, it is also worth noting that even in anarchy the inter-relations of actors are 40 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory always already enmeshed within a complex plethora of cultures, institut- ions and discourses that constrain and enable to varying degrees, for example, through the logic of capital as much as by the exigencies of military power and insecurity, the institution of sovereignty, the UN, and so on. Anarchy is indeterminate and this is one of its normative strengths. Even from this basic starting point we can see that anarchy permits of no eschatology. What characterises those who have sought to transcend anarchy is the deeply held faith in the progressive forces of history. Critical theorists and liberals have faith in the progressive development of political institutions and in the potential for a universal moral consciousness. Both are either explicitly or inadvertently equated with the extension of a liberal world order. Given the dominance of that order, both liberalism and critical theory legitimise the status quo while holding out the same sorts of promises that republican political theory did in the nineteenth century: anarchy can be transcended. Domination is at the heart of this system – an ideological domination that stretches back two centuries and is fundamentally premised on the acceptance of the moral legitimacy of the state and market and the promise they both hold out for transcending anarchy. Paradoxically, at precisely the same moment as liberalism reigns supreme, counter-forces within global politics are illuminating the radical plurality of global order, nations reaffirm their autonomy while the power that inheres to relations of global capital still structures the opportunities of countless millions. In each case, it is transcendence to liberal utopias rather than anarchy that is seen to be the palliative measure worth taking and domination is further entren- ched. It is time to rethink the normative value of anarchy. As political units have disaggregated, as social relations, differentiation and the division of labour become increasingly complex in the post- or late- modern era, anarchy becomes more acute, but world politics is nonetheless more ordered and for the time being less prone to interstate war. In the 1970s and even more recently since the onset of the most recent crisis of capitalism, and by stark contrast to the shocks that crippled the global order in the 1930s and precipitated a Second World War, the international system has not collapsed despite the fact that it remains anarchic. Might it be, as the constructivists and others have argued, that cultural norms hold societies together in anarchy, that principles of justice and right provide broad frameworks for social order in spite of the state’s impotence and retreat in the last 20 years? Third, despite anarchy coming to be seen to be at the heart of our ways of knowing and doing world politics, despite our modes of signification having no transcendent foundations, we still muddle through more or less fine. It seems to matter not one jot for global order that ‘the world is a text’, as Derrida put it, a suggestion that would have sent Hobbes, who staked the Leviathan’s credentials on being able to fix and enforce the stable meanings of words (amongst other things), into an existential tail-spin.  Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 41 In sum, anarchy is inherent to world politics, and yet anarchism seems, by its glaring absence, to be anathema to our modus operandi. In spite of this, if we wish to understand how order and justice can be constituted in anarchy, IR theory seems to have stood in for anarchism. As Thomas Kuhn put it, ‘[t]he early versions of most new paradigms are crude. By the time their full aesthetic appeal can be developed, most of the community has been persuaded by other means.’63 The aim of the remainder of this book is to set out how we might use the first anarchist theory of world politics to help us understand the origins of our own ideas and to think through possible ways of developing more just and more ordered societies in anarchy today. This is not to say that there are not other ways of approaching world politics from an anarchist perspective. Rather the claim is that turning to Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, the first self-professed anarchist can help us correct the historical record and thus lay some more of the historical and conceptual groundwork for a more substantive anarchist approach to world politics as we head deeper into the new millennium. Our standard ways of understanding justice, order and anarchy, concep- tions that are more or less redundant at the present juncture, were forged in the nineteenth century, at precisely the time Proudhon was developing his theory of anarchism. If we wish to break the spell cast by contemporary theories of anarchy we would do well to heed Skinner’s advice and go back and have a look at how the theory was first formulated and why. In the following chapters, I want to show how Proudhon came to similar conclu- sions to the ones IR theorists are developing today, some 150 years ago. This historical lag is significant, because what it shows us is that we can learn from the road not travelled when we come to think about which way to go from here. Going back to the nineteenth century, to the point where the modern period bloomed, will provide us with an original perspective on why it wilted so spectacularly in the twentieth century, and why it is that this may yet be the age of anarchism. Contextualising Proudhon’s ideas in their time and in relation to the prevailing intellectual norms of the period will not only give us a novel perspective on Proudhon’s international political theory, but should also shed light on the origins of our own ideas. 3 National unity and the nineteenth-century European equilibrium One objection to the foregoing analysis, which the reader may be mulling over at this point, might be that it’s all well and good to have anarchy between states, but to promote anarchy within them would be madness. This way of seeing things, with a stark bifurcation between inside and outside, is the corollary of seeing the world in terms of nation states and then accepting all that we have been told about their moral and political efficacy and the source of order more generally. The origins of this story lie in the nineteenth century, since before then nation states as we know them did not exist. It was at this time that the ideology of the nation state was developed in the context of the imminent collapse of the European empires. The doc- trine of the state, buttressed by that of the nation, was invented as a way of countering the legitimacy and territorial reach of the old Imperial orders of France, Austria-Hungary, Russia, Britain and so on, and it was also used to justify the rise and consolidation of the new unified nation states of Prussia and Italy, and to justify the claims to national self-determination and free- dom that would emerge once the old empires collapsed. Nationalism, republicanism and statism were cosy bedfellows and anarchy was at once the problem and the effect of their designs. But anarchy as the effect of state- hood was seen to be the necessary price, and far more tolerable than the empires or parcelised sovereignty that preceded nation states. As I argued in the previous chapter, liberal and realist theories of anarchy have their roots in this nineteenth-century debate. Both the con- servative defence of the virtues of anarchy and the liberal declaiming of the very same concept have their origins in debates around national self- determination and the benefits of Empire during that period. Much of why so few are willing to defend the concept of anarchy and why anarchism is often considered quite conservative by Marxists in particular is due to the intellectual hangover from this period of European history. By going back to this period and taking a fresh look at the debates, this chapter not only contextualises our own thinking but will also help me context- ualise Proudhon’s international political theory by reference to the way he understood the main structural transformations in post-revolutionary European politics.  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 43 What I do in the following chapter is set out the deeper intellectual roots of the theory of statism as articulated by three of the most influential republicans of the period – Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant and Auguste Comte. By setting out their thought I explain in more detail the political theory of statism to which Proudhon objected. In this chapter I set out the political machinations of the time and what political and social reasons (as opposed to intellectual and moral reasons) Proudhon might have had for rejecting the statist consensus of his time. This chapter presents Proudhon as the Chomsky of his age, while chapters five, six and seven set out the theory Chomsky doesn’t have. By way of introduction to the material that follows here, it is worth recalling that in nineteenth-century popular and republican discourse, the principle of national self-determination was a central tool with which the moral legitimacy of Empire could be challenged. From Guissepe Mazzini right through to Woodrow Wilson in the twentieth century, the liberal republican and nationalist rhetoric held that the nation would rise Phoenix-like from the ashes of Empire or from the historic unification of then parcelised autonomous states of the German bund, the Italian peninsula or of Poland. By this reckoning, the self-determining nation state was the pinnacle of human political evolution, galvanising and creating a people by making them free before a uniformly enforced law, unhooked from the arbitrary will of the monarch and legitimated by limited suffrage and national consciousness. On the other side, conservatives and defenders of Empire such as Edmund Burke and Lord Acton, those defenders of what the republicans understood as the egoist anarchy of empire, saw nationalism as the ‘insanity’ of the age, threatening to pander to all the petty jealousies of innumerable peoples and prompting particularism into war.1 While some of Proudhon’s republican socialist contemporaries, like Louis Blanc, were chauvinists, agitating for a French war with imperial Britain at every turn, Marx and Engels were famously ambivalent about nationalism, suggesting that national particularities would be superseded by socialist internationalism. They campaigned vociferously against Bakunin’s pan- Slavism, arguing that it was contrary to the immanent forces in history that were ushering in an internationalist working class that would sweep all before it. But it was not until the late 1880s that Marxists such as Otto Bauer began to pay serious attention to the question of nationalism. By then, the game was up. Bismark had begun his radical project of unification in Germany and nationalism was his primary tool. As Otto Pflanze has argued, Bismarck’s theft of the national cause from the hands of the German liberals [ … ] demonstrated that nationalism could actually be assimilated by the conservative political order. It was his genius to realize that in the mass age autocratic monarchies required new legitimation [ … ]. Through German nationalism he provided the Hohenzollern monarchy and 44 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium the traditional social order in Prussia with a new and more powerful moral foundation. While democratic liberalism remained inimical to autocratic government, nationalism became in Germany its principal justification.2 Blind-sided by these processes and, as Michael Howard has argued, hypnotised by the apparent transformation of warmongering capitalists into a strong force for peace, liberals and socialists in 1914 under- estimated the true dangers: those arising from forces inherent in the states-system of the balance of power which they had for so long denounced, and those new forces of militant nationalism which they themselves had done so much to encourage. It was these which combined to destroy the transnational community they had laboured to create.3 By now it is commonplace and not at all odd to suggest, as Elie Kedourie has, that ‘contrary to the dreams of Mazzini and President Woodrow Wilson, national self-determination is a principle of disorder, not of order, in international life’.4 But during the middle and late part of the nineteenth century, this was most certainly not the case, and in this respect, Proudhon was swimming against an unstoppable tide and confused all his socialist contemporaries when he campaigned against the doctrine of national unity. What I want to do in this chapter is set out Proudhon’s critique of the nineteenth-century doctrines of national unity and in so doing take the reader back to that time to get a flavour of the flux of social processes and the contingency of our times. The chapter sets out Proudhon’s contribution to debates surrounding two of the key international events of the mid-nineteenth century that were to be so centrally important to the subsequent development of European history: the unification of Italy and of Poland. In the mid-1840s, Italy’s nine regions were ruled by a collection of ‘foreign’ emperors and the papacy, with only one autonomous republic, that of San Marino. The Risorgimento (or Resurgence) was at once an exercise in developing Italian autonomy and ‘freeing’ Italy’s population from ‘external’ rule. For republicans, the stakes could not have been higher nor the issue more starkly and simply put: monarchy or freedom? Poland too was a vexed issue. Divided four times between the regional imperial powers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Poland’s future and autonomy was also central to any republican imaginary. Proudhon’s views on these two cases are hugely interesting and vital for a full understanding of his position on some of the most talked about questions of the day. Recounting them in detail for the first time in the English language is of historical value in its own right, but what we will find is that many of Proudhon’s conclusions are counter-intuitive and will be shown to grate against the intellectual hegemony of his time and ours. In short, Proudhon  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 45 defended the European equilibrium set up by the Holy Alliance, was against Italian and Polish unification and believed that the widespread mimicry of French statist republicanism was pitching Europe towards certain calamity. For Proudhon the free movement of the political equilibrium within and between societies is a vital determinant of the ‘metamorphosis’ of history.5 For him, understanding the relatively autonomous role of the European equilibrium, what we now know of as the balance of power, in structuring political relations in Europe was central to perceiving the potential for republican and socialist notions of freedom and liberty. What marks Proudhon’s theory out from our understanding of the balance of power, is that his theory was embedded in a deeper, what we might call three- dimensional understanding of the structures of the European political equilibrium. Rather than see power balancing as taking place only between functionally similar states, with material capabilities the key variable, Proudhon understood the European equilibrium, like many of his con- temporaries, to be sustained by sub-national forces, criss-crossed by plural transnational forces, material and ideological and economic, and thus far more complex.6 Attempts to reduce this complexity to a choice between empire and freedom, was part of the problem and not an adequate framing of the solution. Proudhon lambasts the unitarist and centralising tendencies of the republicans as much as he does the imperial tendencies of the great powers and argued consistently in favour of federalist solutions. This may not seem too radical to us today, but federalism flew in the face of the standard unitarist nationalism of his contemporaries. In Proudhon’s view, the cen- tralising and unitarist republican projects of his contemporaries were likely to pitch Europe into war, but a war that unlike any of its predecessors would be between industrialised and militarised states, and thus exponentially more destructive. The three forces of industrialisation, militarisation and cen- tralisation suggested that the republican cause would be trampled underfoot by ever-stronger states. The republicans, Proudhon argued, were stumbling blindly into a trap and his anarchism is central to this foresight. As he put it: A day will come, perhaps in the not too distant future, when this movement of concentration will change into an opposing movement. This will be once the parliamentary and bourgeois experience has become the norm, and when the great economic questions have become the main questions of the day. Only then will the social revolution, lost in February 1848, be accomplished throughout Europe. But for the moment, it is incontestable that opinion on all these points is in the majority unitarist.7 The reminder of this book will unpack and flesh out the theoretical, philo- sophical and conceptual arguments that are set out in historical form here. 46 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium Nationalism and republicanism in Italy and Poland The mid-nineteenth century marked the highpoint of European empire. The European powers had colonised most of the known world and since the defeat of Napoleon in 1815 had consolidated the imperial order in Europe. For most conservative theorists of European international relations, those in the ascendency around this time, the autonomy of Empire was the key focal point of their writings. Anarchy was not a word the likes of Edmund Burke, Joseph De Maistre, Fredrick Von Gentz and others used to describe this order. For these writers, the post-revolutionary European order reflected the settled norms and principles of centuries of monarchical divine right to rule and in this sense the European order had a transcen- dental quality ordained by God, which no challenger could or should unsettle. Despite Napoleon’s defeat in 1815, the republican cause was only just getting started. The republican sentiment established in Tom Paine’s Common Sense and The Rights of Man, and in Rousseau’s Social Contract, flourished once more in the Restoration period. The mobilisations of the citizen-soldier in La Grande Armée and the evident success of the new nationalist rhetoric in galvanising the nation was to fundamentally trans- form Europe right up to the so-called Springtime of Nations in 1848 and beyond. Guissepe Mazzini in Italy, Lajos Kossuth in Hungary and innumerable other nationalist republicans elsewhere developed a new republican discourse that had profound repercussions for European order. If freedom was the end, national self-determination was the means, and the primary block to these aspirations across Europe were still the imperial Great Powers: primarily Britain, Austria and Russia, but also France, Prus- sia, Spain and the Ottoman Turks. It is in the context of this challenge that the concept of anarchy emerges to describe the machinations of republican and imperial politics. For the republicans, the European equilibrium was a precarious and unstable order and the egoism of imperial powers, unchecked by the people, constituted the most nefarious anarchy. For as long as the diverse peoples of Europe were choked by their imperial masters, there was always the threat that the ‘long peace’ of 1815 to 1870 would collapse, and most actively campaigned for precisely that. On the other hand, the conservatives charged that with the rise of nationalism and the challenge to the settled imperial order, anarchy threatened to engulf Europe, with all the settled aristocratic norms of etiquette, monarchy, primogeniture, religious uniformity, divine right and so forth, threatened with dissolution. The precise meaning of anarchy was reflected in its contrasting use. On the one hand anarchy was evoked to indicate social and political dissolution, on the other to denote the principal institutional means for protecting aristocratic privilege. The twentieth-century split between realists and liberals (and to a lesser extent the socialists) reflects this earlier formulation.8  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 47 Alongside and often behind the scenes, the mechanisation and indus- trialisation of the military quickened during the same period sparking intense arms races. The Minnie gun, iron-hulled ships, rifling and precision artillery transformed the ways in which armies attacked, but not the way they defended. Banks of men filed willingly into the line of fire with cries of ‘for Queen and country’ or ‘pour la patrie!’ ringing in their ears. Responding to internal republican threats to the established order and external threats from neighbouring industrial states had the dual effect of compelling states to centralise politically and militarise socially. The most unanticipated of these transformations was the Prussian unification of Germany, undertaken in response to losing to the French in the Revolu- tionary Wars and to counter any future threat. Prussia’s unprecedented and largely unexpected rise in terms of military and institutional development culminated with the eventual defeat of France in 1871 and then the two world wars. Proudhon turned to international politics with just under ten years to go before this humiliating defeat of France by the Prussians, the single most important transformation in the European equilibrium in nearly 100 years. His views on the rise of Prussia were cautiously optimistic but he also had a clear sense of the dangers. On the one hand he believed that a united Germany might move quickly and peacefully towards a natural federation of its distinct regions and be a beacon of light for Europe.9 The German experience of the Bund suggested a peaceful federation of peoples would emerge where all would be able to enjoy ‘the fruits of unity without any of the risks of centralisation [and … ] can enjoy all the political liberties promised since the grand coalition against Napoleon in 1813’.10 Proudhon’s optimism was doubtless sustained by the widespread but false belief that the French army was at that time the ‘most formidable instrument of destruction that exists, superior even to that of the First Empire’.11 But Proudhon was not blind to the risks involved in German unification. As he put it in Contradictions Politiques: ‘Germany seeks federation; woe betides the world if Germany slips into the rut of unitarism!’12 Within four years of his death the military balance of power had shifted from France to Prussia and from sea power to artillery. If Bismarck is cast as the skilful and powerful (anti-)hero of the trans- formation of late nineteenth-century European politics, France’s Louis Napoleon III is surely the buffoon. From his coup d’état in 1851 he pursued policies which were to have catastrophic consequences for European peace. His efforts to redraw the map of Europe in his favour, first in the Crimea then in Italy and meanwhile in Mexico, Algeria and in Indochina, sparked fears that France was once again on an imperial path. In each case, Louis Napoleon’s policies were a complete failure, and the forces of nationalism and statism he championed and manipulated shattered the nineteenth-century European order. First, he lost control of his southern borders in Italy, and then, after 1866 and Bismarck’s support of the 48 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium Hungarian, Czech and Italian causes, Louis Napoleon’s popularity in Germany declined rapidly. He was no longer the doyen of nationalism – he was soon to be its victim. When the Prussians broke through meagre French defences in 1870, and Paris was taken over by the communards, Napoleon ordered his prime minister, Adolphe Thiers, an adversary of Proudhon’s in the revolutionary 1848 government, to turn French troops on their compatriots. Nearly 20,000 communards were murdered by their own government in the ensuing civil war in a city. Throughout this time, Proudhon’s republican contemporaries, mainly the Jacobins, were clamour- ing for the tearing up of the 1815 treaties that had established order in Europe since the Revolutionary Wars. Proudhon saw these treaties as a necessary precondition of liberty and peace. What we need to explain, then, is why Proudhon was such an ardent defender of ‘the principle of equilibrium, or of counter forces’.13 Italy Proudhon’s writings on Italy originally appeared as two articles in a Belgian newspaper between July and September, 1862. They were bound to enflame, titled as they were as direct attacks on the political projects of Mazzini and Garibaldi respectively. In the first of the two articles, which were to be published as Fédération et l’Unité en Italie in Paris the following year, Proudhon made the sarcastic observation that uniting Italy under the leadership of Victor Emmanuel was no less absurd than, and would probably lead to, Napoleon III annexing the Low Countries. Inexplicably misunderstood as just such a call for annexation, this argument caused such outrage amongst Belgian nationalists and politicians that a posse was rallied; they marched on Proudhon’s modest apartment in Ixelles and demanded he leave the country. Proudhon left the very next day. His forced expulsion and the notoriety and publicity this generated must also have had a direct bearing on the sales figures of the book: 12,000 copies were sold in France within a couple of months of publication.14 In the introduction to the republished pieces in Fédération et l’Unité en Italie (1862) Proudhon set the record straight. He distanced himself from the call to annexation and summarised his reasons for rejecting the unification for Italy thus: I do not advocate a unified Italy, because such a unity is to my eyes, nothing more than an Italian fantasy; because it is contrary to political principles, to the tendencies of civilization, to the law of the diverse nations of Italy; because it could only be established by means of an armed dictatorship, contrary to all geographical conditions and histor- ical traditions; because, by postponing the liberal aspirations of Italy, it would severely harm the development of freedom in Europe; finally, because such a unity would require the creation of a fearsome military  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 49 force to compel diverging populations to unite, and this would break the established [European] equilibrium, and provoke agitation in the neighbouring states that could only be brought to an end with the complete reorganization of Europe’s political geography. It is on this basis that I argued that the incorporation of Belgium into the French empire would be the probable consequence of this reorganization.15 Proudhon’s position and foresight could not be clearer. He argues here and elsewhere, that de-stabilising the balance of power would compel states to curtail freedom in the interests of domestic control and pursue war in the face of an inevitable Europe-wide response. So what were the reasons underlying this position? First of all, Proudhon concurred with Metternich that Italy was and had been ‘a geographical expression at the disposal of the strongest’.16 A region that had a history of diverse tongues, traditions and institutions, no less culturally varied than geographically and ecologically diverse, Proudhon argued that the urge to unity would extinguish this diversity and would run up against intractable material problems elsewhere – not least in bringing the impoverished south into closer relations with the north and the small problem of the imperial powers that then ruled different parts of the peninsula. Like his friend, the liberal republican historian Joseph Ferrari, Proudhon argued that the ideological disputes that divided commentators on Italian unification were the same as those which had divided Europe since 1815: federalism vs unity; republican constitutionalism vs monarchy; revolution vs conservatism; secularism vs Catholicism; social- ism vs liberalism, and so on.17 Thus, because of the complexity of the issues, the “Italian question” was the touchstone for most debates about the nature and future of Europe: this is why he felt it was such an important issue to resolve diplomatically. But Proudhon saw quite clearly that Napoleon III was an opportunist who was desperate to build his prestige and power at home and abroad, and was using the doctrines of nationalism and unity to do so. He aimed to extend France to what he decided were its ‘natural frontiers’, and by so doing break up the 1815 settlement that had secured peace in Europe for 50 years. Of the Italian protagonists, it was Victor Emmanuel, King of Piedmont, and his prime minister, Count Camillio Benso di Cavour, who had the leading roles. Their successful imperial ambitions in Italy were achieved through the systematic manipulation of nascent nationalist and republican movements in their own interests. Proudhon watched this drama unfold in horror. The story of Franco-Piedmontese adventurism in the Italian peninsula begins in 1854 with Piedmontese entry into the Crimean War on the side of the Anglo-French axis. The rather insignificant part played by Piedmont, essentially the island of Sardinia and part of north-western Italy, neverthe- less bore disproportionately ripe fruit, since by taking part Cavour secured himself a seat at the Congress of Paris at the conclusion of the conflict in 1856. Here, the map of Europe and the middle and near east was redrawn 50 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium and through diplomatic means Piedmont gained international status beyond what would normally have been thought of such a small kingdom in what was generally considered a provincial backwater of Europe. Cavour’s aim was to use Italian involvement in the Crimea to draw attention to the unwanted rule of the Austrians in the north-east of the peninsula, and he was preaching to the choir in this regard. The French and British were quite happy to support the weakening of Austria. Using his new-found status to his advantage, two years later, in July 1858, Cavour met with Napoleon III in secret at Plombières, to conclude an alliance against Austria that would secure French support for Italian unification under the crown of Piedmont.18 Cavour persuaded Napoleon III to back his own imperial design in the peninsula in return for the Duchies of Savoy and Nice, which Napoleon III believed constituted the final pieces of his southern ‘natural frontier’. Napoleon III also believed a new French state in central Italy would restore Napoleonic title to Rome (this claim later provoking the Catholics into the only anti-war movement in France).19 The ‘chauvinists’ on the French right wanted France restored to her 1804 boundaries, which meant annexing Belgium and the whole of the Rhine, and both Piedmont and Lombardy to the south.20 Cavour avoided the latter, saving his own state of course, and it was agreed that post-unification Italy would be a confederation of four states: Piedmont, in control of what was previously Lombardy, and Venetia, Parma and Modena. The Kingdom of Naples would remain independent and Napoleon III would take control of a puppet Papal state.21 Unfortunately for Louis Napoleon and Cavour, despite the absence of any constitutional form of government, Austrian rule in northern Italy was relatively benign, with few egregious abuses of power and privilege and little popular appetite for change. The people were more or less satisfied with the emperor’s rule, and were granted de facto national autonomy throughout the empire. Where further liberties were actively championed state force quickly subdued any liberalising trends, but this anti-modernism was mirrored in the conservative attitudes of the rural populations and roused little opposition. Still, the liberals and the socialists campaigned strongly against the Austro-Hungarian Empire precisely because of Metternich’s refusal to countenance the liberalisation of the empire, and his persistent rejection of formal regional autonomy. The treaties of 1815 represented two things at once: a break on France’s manifest destiny in Europe and a defence of monarchical despotism. In Napolean III’s view, overturning the 1815 settlement and defeating Austria was the precondition for freedom and progress. Proudhon, by contrast, was ambivalent, remarking that it was ‘fashion- able’ to denounce Austria, but any desire to abolish the Austrian Empire must take into account the fact that something would have to take its place and it was not at all clear that the alternatives were much better.22 Indeed, if freedom was what was wanted then perhaps the drive towards  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 51 constitutionalism championed by the liberals was a far better route than the ejection of Austria from the Italian peninsula. Moreover, Proudhon claimed that republican calls to liberalise and constitutionalise the Austro-Hungarian Empire would have been more likely to cement rather than abolish the 1815 settlement, by deepening the international equilibrium through entrench- ing it socially. Moreover, while most campaigned against the imperial powers, few thought it worthwhile to protect the historic liberties of the Italian city states from the imperialism of the king of Piedmont. In the event, since there were no obvious military or diplomatic grounds for France and Piedmont to go to war with Austria, Austria was effectively tricked into hostilities by Cavour and, as agreed, France immediately came to Piedmont’s aid. As A. J. P. Taylor has argued, the decision to go to war was ‘incompatible with any known system of international morality’.23 For Proudhon, Cavour was an imperialist; his actions on the peninsula were ‘a crime’,24 he said, ‘but try and explain that to the chauvinists!’25 The war between Piedmont, France and Austria was inconclusive. While the French were considered to have won, they gained little, with tens of thousands wounded at the infamous battle of Solferino (1859) as a result of the newly industrialised artillery. These battles, coming as they did after the horrors of the Crimea, Florence Nightingale and Tennyson’s iconic poem ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’, scarred the political imagination of the time. The post-war treaty of Villafranca is a particularly important milestone in Italian history for Proudhon. The armistice and ensuing treaty between Napoleon III and Franz Joseph of Austria was supposed to have been based on the division and federation of Italy into four. Lombardy was to be ceded to Napoleon III and then passed on to Cavour and the king of Piedmont. Second, the creation of the state of Tuscany and Modena and the autonomous Papal state, would have balanced Venice, which would become a free state in this Italian confederation but remain subject to the crown of the emperor of Austria. This concession to Austria was purely expedient on Louis Napoleon’s part since he realised his power in the region was waning and without a counterbalance to Piedmont things could get tricky on his southern border – as Proudhon had argued they would.26 In the event, the idea of the confederation was never realised. Moreover, the treaty itself has received relatively little critical attention by scholars of European history, perhaps because it is viewed as a minor incident in a broader narrative of French and Piedmontese opportunism in the penin- sula. For Proudhon, given what he rightly believed would be the alternative of a unified state under the control of the king of Piedmont, it represented Italy’s last chance to avoid certain ruin. ‘The fundamental idea behind the treaty of Villafranca’ was, he argued, the federation of Italy, under the protection of Napoleon III, [and] should have been hailed as the Good News by all Italians: [but] Italian Machiavellianism, linked to the incomprehensible policy of the French 52 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium press, has decided otherwise. The responsibility for that lies with Mazzini more than with anyone else.27 I will discuss Mazzini’s role below and Proudhon’s assessment is perhaps a little unfair. What transpired was that Napoleon III reneged on his deal with Cavour. He relinquished his claim to Nice and Savoy because he could not give Venice to Piedmont, Austria having been surprisingly more effective than predicted at the battles of Solferino and Magenta, denying Piedmont and France that decisive victory and retaining Venice. Seeing his chance beginning to slip away, Cavour prompted nationalist riots against Austria in the central Italian states, and then plebiscites for Piedmontese rule there. But French machinations were rightly worrying Italians and it became clear to Napoleon III that he would soon lose control of Italy altogether if the Italian nationalist clamour for Venice turned into a more likely militant anti-French and anti-imperial attitude.28 Losing control of northern Italy to a country under the control of Piedmont, as Proudhon had argued, would have been a serious problem in terms of French security in the south.29 Of course, by this point it was too late, events were largely beyond the control of any one group,30 and Piedmontese opportunism and cunning were to reap the most rewards. If we value political skulduggery, imperialism and the blatant disregard for any interest but one’s own, Cavour perhaps deserves his reputation as the most skilful diplomat of the nineteenth century. But Cavour, it should be noted, was no Italian nationalist. Like most of the upper class of nineteenth-century Europe, French was his formal and mother tongue and his Italian was far from perfect. He was an innovator, irreligious and opportunistic, and his leadership in Piedmont transformed the kingdom into the leading ‘indigenous’ power on the peninsula. He was vehemently anti-socialist but a radical reformer. Indeed, he viewed the latter as a bulwark against socialism, for as long as authority remained with the ruling classes and, despite his liberal protestations, with him in particular.31 To achieve his ends, Cavour also skilfully outwitted Giuseppe Mazzini, a romantic utopian nationalist, driven by unitarian ideals, and inspired by the ideas of Herder and Schlegel. He viewed the role of literature and culture as one of galvanising a sense of cohesiveness in a nation – however one chose to define it.32 Mazzini was critical of Schlegel’s idealisation of the medieval period, precisely because medieval Italy had been so diverse, with innumer- able city states enjoying full autonomy, and, rather than preserve Italy’s regional and cultural autonomies, he sought the evolution of Italy into a higher, unified entity.33 ‘This young Italy’, Mazzini argued, must be ‘unitary’; For without unity there is no real nation, because without unity there is no power, and Italy, surrounded by unitary nations, which are strong and jealous, must, above all, be powerful. Federalism would reduce it to  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 53 the powerless condition of Switzerland, and under stress of necessity it would fall under the influence of one or another of the neighbouring nations. Federalism would give new life to the rivalries of different localities, which today are quenched and would lead Italy back to the Middle Ages. … Seeking the destruction of the unity of the great Italian family, federalism would render utterly vain that mission that Italy is called to fulfil for humanity.34 The republican nationalists were centrally concerned with issues of security and power, but the solution was almost always crafted, as Mazzini does here, in terms of unitary states rather than anarchy. These issues clearly resonated with wider debates in Europe, such as the relationship between unity, peace and freedom and how Italy’s future is central to that of Europe as a whole. But this position illustrates the deep-seated faith in the progressive tendencies of history and the role of the unitary state in crown- ing that process. Methodological nationalism was utopian once too. While he may have rejected federalism for Italy, Mazzini, like many of his contemporaries, including the anarchist Bakunin, was an advocate of a United States of Europe and nationalism was just a stepping stone in this direction, one which would first be needed to destroy the empires of Europe. To this end, nationalism was a necessary éducation sentimentale on the road to a wider cosmopolitan confraternity of peoples. It was only if people lived in national groups and only if nationalism galvanised the political and institutional connections between people, that harmony among nations could be guaranteed. The core components of nationalism were a single shared language, a shared religion, literature and unitary political institutions. Like Rousseau, whom he followed religiously, division was the source of weakness and anarchy. As Oliver Zimmer has pointed out, when Mazzini ‘presented his map of a Europe of Nations, Switzerland did not figure on it. In Mazzini’s vision, the small republican state in the heart of Europe did not constitute a nation [ … ] the Swiss nation- state, from Mazzini’s perspective was both too small and too culturally diverse’.35 Proudhon saw Switzerland’s diversity as a symbol of its strength and used this analogy to support his argument against Italian unification. He argued that the Swiss confederation was not really a state, but this was precisely why it worked. Proudhon isolates five main factors in support of this. First, its constitution respected the autonomous and nominally sovereign rights of each of its numerous cantons. Second, the constitution was flexible enough to be rewritten and amended each time the internal balance of power necessitated it. Third, the federal and cantonal budgets were separate. Fourth, the central federal polity does nothing but serve the interests of the individual cantons – it does not define them – and all delegates are recallable and directly responsible to the cantons rather than any other political cleavage. Fifth, there is no standing federal army, nor a centralised 54 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium police force, and Proudhon believed, rather perceptively perhaps, that this model ought to have been applied to resolve the American Civil War, thereby counterbalancing the centralist tendencies of the north.36 Proudhon even cites article 12 of the Swiss constitution (1848) that makes it illegal for Swiss journalists to accept prizes from foreign politicians as a sign of its enlightened awareness of the partisan priorities of the French press in the context of Louis Napoleon III’s adventurism in Italy.37 Perhaps more importantly, Proudhon was diametrically opposed to any project of unification that did not place socialism at its heart. Mazzini, Cavour and Napoleon were anti-socialists. Nationalism was a discourse that allowed them to avoid the question of economic disenfranchisement and exploitation, by uniting a people in heritage while eliding material inequality or explaining it away in terms of a necessary evil in the interests of the good of the nation as a whole. In practice this meant that the poor become dominated by the rich. Mazzini, Proudhon argued, had little or no interest in the economic and social problems of Italy and argued that this ought to make him the enemy, not the champion, of the republican cause in France.38 What really mattered for Mazzini, in Proudhon’s eyes, was unity. To this end, Mazzini even sacrificed his early republicanism and sided with King Victor-Emmanuel in the interests of Italian unity: ‘For a serious Republican, this would have been apostasy in exchange for a utopia; for Mazzini, it was an act of highest virtue’, Proudhon observed.39 The French democrats were seemingly blind to the complexities of the context and driven by their own ideas about French étatisme, supported the ideals of national unity espoused by Louis Napoleon, Mazzini and Cavour at whatever cost. Proudhon’s analysis led him to believe that the champion of national unity was, paradoxically, also the executioner of nationalities. ‘The first effect of centralisation’, he argued, is to erase any kind of indigenous character in the various localities of a country; while one might think that through unity the political life of the masses will be exalted, in fact one destroys its constitutive parts and even its base elements. A state of twenty six million souls like Italy, is a state in which all the provincial and municipal freedoms are con- fiscated to benefit a superior power, the government.40 Unity was a recipe for domination, not freedom. Thus, Mazzini’s flaw in thinking that a centralised and unitary state would allow Italy to ward off the domination of foreign powers was that he failed to see how a newly ‘centralised’ state would dominate ‘domestically’. Not only this, but rather than stabilise the European equilibrium, republican and liberal projects for national unity on the peninsula would destabilise it by choking off a groundswell of demands by labour movements and by eliding the very real social differences that existed within the spurious unities being built – Italy being a case in point. Nationalism was simply the expression on a wider  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 55 scale of the very same problems of particularity on a local level that Mazzini thought he saw in the Middle Ages. Of course Proudhon’s rejection of national unity and the defence of the 1815 settlement would have been seen as a clear endorsement of the positions of the arch conservatives. Consider, for example, Lord Acton’s critique of the Risorgimento.41 Mazzini and Louis Napoleon stood for all that Acton despised (democracy, republicanism and centralisation) and against all that he cherished (Austria, the Papacy, aristocracy and the tradi- tional social cleavages of European politics). For Acton, the Church and aristocracy acted as checks to the monarchic state and freedom could only be ensured where these and other forms of regional autonomy were ensured. Acton saw in the mutual checks and balances of various entrenched interests a stable order more in tune with history. Austria, as far as Acton was concerned, was the last remaining European state where aristocratic liberties were enjoyed and the treaties of the Congress of Vienna were designed to ensure that the balance of power held this order together in perpetuity. Napoleon III’s claim to have ripped up the 1815 treaties in the name of democracy, nationality and republican freedom was a direct threat to this. As far as Acton was concerned, nationalism was a doctrine of the state and since the nation state was emerging as an absolutist power, it would not tolerate the temporal rule of the Church and would likely spell the latter’s terminal decline. Thus, Acton saw Mazzini’s deep-seated Catholicism to be in direct contradiction with his nationalism. But on one issue, Acton, Cavour, Mazzini and Napoleon III were all united – revolutionary socialism had to be stopped. By contrast, Proudhon argued that Acton’s localism and traditionalism did not go far enough. He suggested that each locale ought to be run by the people and not by the aristocracy or Church. Proudhon also argued that the autonomy of groups ought to stretch to the factories and workshops of Italy, which were no less deserving of the autonomy championed by Mazzini. While both Acton and Proudhon saw universal suffrage as the path to despotism, Acton sought to limit suffrage while Proudhon sought to diversify its location and expression, arguing that for democracy to be meaningful it had to be the expression of our existence in the natural groups that we are part of: the towns, regions, workshops, and so on. It was in this way that localities could not only act as a restraint on the power of the state, but would obviate the need for it altogether. For Acton, on the other hand, the only way to secure the autonomy of the diverse organic nations of Europe was within an overarching Empire – preferably the Austrian in Europe and the British elsewhere. Ironically, Proudhon’s defence of the principle of equilibrium and the 1815 treaties prompted his compatriots to unfairly lampoon him as inconsistent and contradictory and align him with Prince Metternich, foreign minister of the Austrian Empire, and amongst republicans, ‘the most hated man of the XIX century’.42 56 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium But Proudhon was clear, if nationality was to mean anything at all in Italy, it had to be the expression of the existing, deeply historical localities built around the ancient city states. If freedom was dependent on identity, language and religion, then the locales of Italy ought to be self-governing rather than united under a unitarist constitution, with a single language few could speak and a constitution that would extinguish rather than create freedoms. Moreover, he suggested, the material practicalities of governing such diverse communities would demand a degree of centralisation and force that would ultimately suppress the very liberties that Mazzini and others claimed to champion. ‘And who benefits from this regime of unity? The people? No. The upper classes.’ He continued that ‘Unity from 1815 to the present day, is simply a form of bourgeois exploitation under the protection of bayonets’,43 what Tilly later described as the extortion model of state formation.44 In sum, all Mazzini would achieve with his so-called republicanism would be to ‘inoculate’ Italy with despotism. In September 1862, Proudhon published his second piece on the unitarist project in Italy, this time focusing on Garibaldi and his cynical exploitation by Cavour and King Victor-Emmanuelle. Garibaldi’s moral rectitude was something Proudhon praised without hesitation. He had something of ‘Cesar and Washington’ about him Proudhon observed,45 but a lack of foresight, of any guiding principles, and the fact that his political aware- ness was further clouded by his missionary zeal for unity, seemed always to thwart his plans. At this time Garibaldi was leading the charge against the king of Naples from his base in Sicily, which Garibaldi had conquered with little effort and with even less design. As he was heading north, Louis Napoleon was attempting to establish his dominance in a federal grouping of the principal states of the peninsula. After Solferino this became impossible. It also became clear to the Italian nationalists, and Louis Napoleon’s domestic support in France, that he was less interested in Italian Unity and the cause of its peoples than originally presumed. This fact was not lost on either Garibaldi or Mazzini who both then campaigned against France and used French ambitions in the peninsula as the pretext for their own – mainly as a way to enflame their supporters – while Napoleon III and Cavour persisted in their mutual manipulation of the nationalist cause for their own opposed ends. Garibaldi’s nationalist campaign and his successes in Sicily and Naples were seen as a danger to both. His quasi-leftist and anti-monarchist rhetoric was a threat to Cavour and his anti-imperialist stance angered Louis Napoleon. Undoubtedly the more skilful strategist and diplomat, Cavour skilfully headed off any further advances by Garibaldi in the penin- sula by provoking anti-French unrest in the kingdoms north of Naples and moving in to quash and control the area before Garibaldi ignited a wider social revolution.46 Garibaldi then became a menace to French ambitions when his march north threatened the safety and Papal autonomy of Rome, a state he had defended in 1849, but which now, due to French designs  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 57 he had to occupy as soon as possible. Liberating Rome from the French and expelling them from the peninsula in the name of national unity was a personal ambition which had little resonance in the southern states from which he derived his support. After his resounding victories in Sicily a chance cry of ‘Rome or death’ from the crowd became ‘a war cry and a policy’ and antagonised Piedmont still further.47 Garibaldi’s core support was a strange mix of the professional classes, particularly lawyers, and students, all of whom marched the quickest step. But the vast majority of the Italian south had been largely unimpressed by insurrections and the promises of political independence through unity and craved their regional independence as much as they accused their neighbours of conspiring against them.48 John Breuilly recounts the rather amusing anecdote that when Garibaldi let out the cry ‘Viva Italia!’ in Rome the crowd thought he was referring to Victor Emmanuel’s wife.49 Proudhon seemed to understand this contradiction between the people’s aspirations, the European balance of power and the machinations of the regional powers better than most. He argued that the Italian revolutionaries, indeed the European left as a whole, were naïve in their understanding of the nature of state power in Europe. He also argued that ‘from the moment they [Garibaldi and Mazzini] refused to take account of the established powers and the necessities of the century, and indulged their demagogic passions, the country (la patrie) was lost to them’.50 Proudhon also argued that ‘the cause of the proletariat and that of the European equilibrium are interdependent; both protest with equal energy against unity and in favour of the federative system’.51 Why would monarchical and imperialistic states become champions of the socialist cause in Italy, Poland or Austria, he asked, when this had so clearly failed to materialise in France? Why was it that the children of the revolution, those who were taught to denounce what Proudhon called ‘industrial feudalism’,52 were helping states to realise precisely this in Italy? The nationalist cause was no more ludicrous in Italy than it was in France. As he pointed out elsewhere, France was herself made up of ‘at least twenty different nations, whose character, observed in people and peasants, is strongly different’,53 ‘[t]he Frenchman is a figment of the imagination: he does not exist’.54 The tradition of local particularity and sub-national consciousness in the regions was stamped out by the French state over the course of the consolidation of its power in the eighteenth and nineteenth century. As he quite rightly pointed out, ‘[r]emove the support provided by the central police, and France will des- cend into federalism. Local attractions will prevail.’55 This argument escaped Carr’s attention, who once claimed that ‘the suggestion of distributing French sovereignty in the name of federalism does not occur to him [Proudhon]’.56 Finally, the battle of Solferino and others illustrated for Proudhon that the practice of war was changing and that rather than being a tool that could be wielded in the interests of national glory, the industrialisation of 58 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium the military was the beginning of the end of freedom. Citing from The Times’ coverage of the Lombardy campaigns, Proudhon asked whether the new artillery used there was in any way less discriminate than poisoning the water of the enemy, then outlawed under international law. To put 5 or 6 kilometres between the imprecise shot and the vaguely seen target ought to have been seen to be as indiscriminate as poisoning and, Proudhon continued, shrapnel kills far more than were ever killed during hand-to- hand combat. Was the slow industrialisation of warfare not rendering the civic element of war redundant? Where is the valour in war now, he asked? Modern artillery, rifling, the revolver, and other such revolutionary instru- ments of war, had begun to reduce war to ‘reciprocal slaughter’.57 Watching this process unfurl, Proudhon argued that ‘the perfecting of weapons tends to make the encounter of the peoples impossible’.58 Looking forward he argued: ‘When weapons are such that numerical strength and discipline, as well as courage, no longer mean anything in war, bid adieu to the reign of majorities, universal suffrage, empire, republic, or any form of government; power will fall into the hands of the wicked.’59 With rationalism the rising creed at this time, and utility the guiding morality in society, Proudhon lamented the possibility that when interests and ideals come into conflict, interests will tend to ‘trample all morality and all ideals underfoot’. Seeing this process as largely inevitable due to the tendencies of the time, Proudhon prayed: ‘for the love of God, protect us from the introduction of utilitarianism in war and morality.’60 Central to Proudhon’s analysis here was the concept of ‘militarisme’, which he coined,61 and the political insights he gained from watching French state- society industrialise and militarise at once. Whereas in Britain, private investment fuelled initiatives which were then turned to military innovation and sold back to the state, in France it was state-led from the start. William McNeill has shown that during the 1850s the French military led the world technologically in two very important respects. First of all, with the launch of the Napoleon in 1850 the French navy gained the edge over the British in terms of speed and horsepower; then in 1858 the first iron plated ship, La Glorie, became the first ship to be virtually impregnable to any existing gun. Second, in 1849, Captain Minié developed a new bullet that expanded on firing to fit a rifled barrel and fire with five times the range but at an equivalent loading speed to a musket. Mass production followed in the wake of the Crimean War because military failure, disease and calamity provoked ‘a remarkable bout of warlike inventiveness’.62 By the 1860s a ‘global, industrialised armaments business’63 had emerged. Despite British industrial and engineering ingenuity, France had led this move and ‘appeared in 1860 to be the greatest power of the European continent, in their own eyes and in those of expert foreign observers’.64 It thus came as a complete shock to the French, and indeed the European balance of power itself, when in 1870 the Prussian army marched to the outskirts of Paris. Having been quietly developing, unifying and industrialising over the previous 30 years,  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 59 all galvanised by a romantic nationalist philosophy used to co-opt the liberal classes into Bismarck’s statist project, Prussia surprised the world. Almost immediately, American students of politics flooded over to learn of Bismarck’s success first hand, Woodrow Wilson’s teachers principal among them. This transition to militarised states brought with it the move to managed economies. McNeil argues that ‘this denouement was hidden from the actors of the age itself by the fact that before the 1880s initiative for technical change nearly always rested with private investors’,65 which may have been the case in Britain, but was not so in France and Proudhon was well aware of this development. In summary, it is clear that republican politics often pulled in contra- dictory directions and what Proudhon’s analysis shows is the tendency amongst most to see the promise of republican politics to lie in the realisa- tion of strong, centralised states. The contradiction was that the pursuit of this project would likely cause war and while it was by no means anathema to the republican tradition, what Proudhon argued was that the coming wars would be detrimental to the republican aspirations of Europe. Unsettling the established European equilibrium was one thing, doing so in the name of the unitary nation state was, he argued, doubly short-sighted. What I will discuss in the following chapter is why republicans thought in this way. First, I turn to the case of Poland to illustrate another aspect of this debate. Poland While political economy was part of Proudhon’s critique of Italian unifica- tion, it was far more prominent in his critique of Polish nationalism, and while the case of Italy speaks to the question of regional security, particu- larly the role of France, the question of Polish unification was a central security issue for Prussia, Austria and Russia. Would a unified Poland be too great a prize for any one of these powers to forego? Would keeping it divided ensure equilibrium? Was it right that a country should be treated in this way, essentially a bucket of ballast to keep the European equilibrium on an even keel? What is unique in Proudhon’s reading of the Polish ques- tion and of Polish history is how he understood the equilibrium between classes to be central to the European equilibrium, and how any attempt to unify Poland without addressing the imbalance of class relations therein, and in Europe more broadly, would likely tip Europe into conflict. From this perspective, he argued, the ‘Polish Question’ was the key to ‘world peace’.66 Broadly speaking, then, the key question was whether Poland should be restored to her pre-1773 borders and unified. The driving force for change was a new nobility-led, romantic Polish nationalism and their claim to a natural right to national unity. Was there such a right? Proudhon was unequivocal: ‘No.’67 He argued that the division of Poland was 60 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium ‘driven by necessity’ and was vital to justice, order and world peace. Furthermore, [i]nvoking, like Rousseau, natural rights, inalienable sovereignty, and other great rhetorical principles, will be in vain. If the historical development of civilization requires that a given nationality be absorbed by another, it will be so, and it will be just, until the time comes when the nationality will reappear.68 These general conclusions, stark as they must seem without fuller elabora- tion, were the outcome of two years of research, resulting in a 900-page manuscript, only parts of which were published as extended chapters in Si les Traités de 1815 ont cessé d’exister (1863). With La Guerre et la Paix (1861) having been met with disbelief and outrage and the newspaper articles on Italy having resulted in his eviction from Belgium, he was more than justified in thinking that the contentious argument in ‘La Pologne’, would have been misconstrued as a defence of autocracy.69 Perhaps just as importantly, he did not wish his critique of Polish nationalism to stand in the way of the ambitions of his Russian friends, Alexander Herzen, Michael Bakunin and others, who in 1861 and 1863 played leading roles in the unsuccessful Polish insurrections.70 While on the face of it, Proudhon’s position was too close to the preferences of the Great Powers, ultimately his position was consistent with his vision for Italy. ‘I am perfectly convinced’, he argued, ‘that the Polish question cannot be solved any diff- erently than the Italian question, which is to say, through federation’.71 But the particularities of Polish history demanded their own solutions and in the absence of a working federal solution to the Polish question, Proudhonn believed that partition was the only workable solution. The standard republican alternative, national unity, was the worst of all available options. In the case of Italy, Proudhon’s objection to the project of national unity was that it would swamp all the historically rooted traditions and localities, and lead to a bourgeois peace that would be detrimental to working-class interests and would de-stabilise France’s southern borders, with foreseeable effects on the future of the European equilibrium. Proudhon’s objection to Polish unity was that there was no such strong indigenous community that could constitute a nation or a state at all. Moreover, he remarked that ‘if there was a spot on earth where it was ever justified to say that property is theft, not from the point of view of trans- cendental critique, but from the standpoint of positive practice, it is in Poland’.72 Even by nineteenth-century standards, the serf population of Poland, i.e. everyone but the nobles, were in a notoriously underprivileged state and there was no bourgeois middle class of any note. Poland was, for all intents and purposes, its nobility, and this nobility had historically fought amongst themselves for seigniorial rights over their serf population and  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 61 routinely aligned with the three regional powers to serve their own fickle interests. These nobles, Proudhon argued, rarely governed anything of any note and were wholly parasitical on the serfs that sustained them. They periodically wrote and devised constitutions that were not enacted, and rarely did anything to improve the lot of the people. This, Proudhon argued, is the opposite of what happened in other countries. Referring to Britain in an uncharacteristically generous way, Proudhon argues that here the upper classes, particularly the emergent bourgeoisie, raised the moral and civic consciousness of the people through organising social education and balancing against the interests of the aristocracy and the monarchy. Unlike in Italy, there was no emerging bourgeois middle class that might, given its divergent interests, align itself with the serfs against the nobility. Whereas in France and Britain, this mutual social antagonism generated republican constitutions, this seemed impossible in Poland. Therefore, Proudhon argued, Poland ought to remain partitioned until a middle class or intermediary group could emerge to temper the stark injustices in Polish society.73 But what other functions did partitioning play? Proudhon argued that with a weak (often puppet) royalty sitting at the head of a self-interested nobility, it was relatively simple for the major European powers to take control and claim the country for themselves – as was the case with the abdication of Stanislas and the ensuing machinations of Prussia, France and Austria. With no domestic powers to root the nobility in their own country, zones of influence were easily carved up between the main regional powers and they became a major cause of European conflagration.74 The prize of Polish lands was too much for its neighbours to resist, and with such little internal organic connection between people and state, there was little or no popular resistance. Domestic slavery resulted in domination by foreign powers. Proudhon argued that the continued partition of Poland was central to European security and peace. By stabilising the ambitions of the regional powers, order could at least be ensured while social transformations took place within Poland, perhaps, in the absence of a middle class, prompted by the occupying powers themselves. For example, Catherine II of Russia had proposed the creation of a new middle class by reforming the lower nobility and developing the peasantry into a commercial force by ‘emanci- pating’ them. The nobility denounced both Catherine and her plans and claimed it to be a plot against the existence of Poland itself, which, if we consider Poland at this time as nothing more than a collection of nobles, for all intents and purposes it might as well have been. But the nobility denounced this plan and ‘from this moment’ Proudhon argued, ‘all was lost’.75 The first two divisions of Poland were explained by the nobility’s unme- diated ‘hatred’ of the serfs, preferring the partition of Poland to their emancipation in each case. Thankfully, Proudhon argued, this participation 62 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium actually helped the serfs ‘breathe’, giving life to their political aspirations as a social class. The Congress of Vienna and the age of constitutions it ushered into Europe, despite retaining the partition of Poland, neverthe- less gave civic and constitutional impetus to Polish political life. Proudhon argued that ‘[t]he people came to understand liberty once the partitions began’.76 If there were any cause for Polish nationalism it should be based, he argued in 1861, upon a European conception of pan-Slavism tied to a restoration of Slavic rights in Russia. This, he argued, would begin a process of realising a cultural and historical foundation upon which to build civic participation protected within the overarching structure of the 1815 equilibrium. Furthermore, Proudhon argued that Russia should (and perhaps naively thought they would) take the initiative in successfully emancipating the serfs of Poland, much as Alexander II had done in Russia in 1861. At the same time, suppressing Polish revolts from 1831 had begun to galvanise a distinctly Polish nationality. But when Polish revolu- tionaries rose up in Austrian controlled Galicia in 1846 the local peasants massacred them.77 Proudhon believed this spoke to the same issues that he had raised in his discussion of Italy: that the autonomy of peoples should not be sacrificed to the wishes of well-intentioned republicans. Rousseau’s advice to the government of Poland provides an interesting contrast to Proudhon’s despite the distance in time between the two writers. In many respects their analysis converges, though there is no evidence to suggest Proudhon had read Rousseau’s writings on Poland.78 They both concurred that the Polish question was central to European peace; that the nobility were central to the problem; that the economic condition of the serfs was woeful and that Polish society was in dire need of wholesale reform. The one area where there is most contrast is on the question of confederating the Diétines (small Diets). Rousseau argued that Poland would naturally need to be a confederation of these Diétines, united through a common constitution, a single language and religion, but in order that their independence be preserved Rousseau also introduced a veto right. This veto was designed to promote unanimity amongst the nobles; secession, he argued, would be suicidal. Finally, the fickle allegiances of the Diétines could only be rectified by ensuring that the political representatives were changed frequently in order that they were not seduced by a neighbouring state.79 Rousseau also advised the development of a martial spirit infused with civic virtues and this, he argued, was not only right, but historically providential. I explore Rousseau’s ideas in relation to providence in far more detail in the following chapter, but in brief it is worth remarking that Rousseau argued that the establishment of the republic would bring citizen-soldiers to the pinnacle of their civic feeling and that the establish- ment of the republic would be the establishment of a people, free from foreign dominium and united before a common law.80 The Lawgiver in this  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 63 case was to inculcate the population with the love of country and a sense of civic pride. Money was a corrupting influence on the Polish adminis- trative system and Rousseau advised against the introduction of further monetrisation of the economy hoping civic virtue would drive ambition rather than material gain. Rousseau also believed that empowering the bourgeoisie and emancipating the serfs was critical, but he was not hopeful of much success. Coupled with a civic education and a common enemy – Russia – this, he thought, would be enough to ensure that should Russia swallow Poland up, the strength of their civic life and national sentiment would be enough to ensure that Poland was, in that famous phrase, ‘indigestible’.81 Variations on these doctrines were widely trumpeted and the develop- ment of a nationalist romantic, literary movement amongst the Polish revolutionaries quickly garnered the support of numerous revolutionary movements across Europe, who in turn drove the Polish question up the political agenda. Proudhon was not unsympathetic, as his consideration for his friends indicates, but the problem was that the unification of Poland and the strength of civic feeling bore no relation to the facts on the ground and in the event, despite the best intentions of the revolutionaries, a united Poland was still too weak to resist imperial greed. The course of his- tory has borne out Proudhon’s conclusions. As Norman Davis has argued, The strength of the Insurrectionary Tradition [in Poland …] bore no relation to the numbers of its adherents or to the outcome of its political programme. It reflected not the support of the masses, but the intense dedication of its devotees, whose obstinate temper, con- spiratorial habits, and unfailing guardianship of the Romantic approach to Literature and History was effectively transmitted from generation to generation.82 Tragically, attempts at Polish nationhood in the century leading up to the revival of the Kingdom of Poland by Germany in 1916 ‘mocked the inte- lligence of those it sought to satisfy’.83 Moreover, ‘[i]n the nineteenth century, the Poles had been faced with a life of deprivation. In the twentieth century, they were faced with extinction.’84 Clearly, in this context, Proudhon’s suggestion in 1863, that Poland be left to die,85 jars painfully, and we are probably right to object to it. But, for Proudhon, the European equilibrium was a determining factor of the success of the republican cause and without due attention to it, would scupper it. The central lesson here is that the balance of power runs far deeper for Proudhon than a set of relations between states. The wider European equilibrium was shaped by the social and class relations of entire cross-border regions and their transformation in the nineteenth century, through the process of state- building, nationalism and industrialisation, changed the social balance of power and constrained and enabled states and their subject populations in 64 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium differential ways. What Proudhon saw that the others did not was arguably this relationship between social forces and state ambitions. Without this awareness, revolutionary action was doomed to failure. There were also popular projects for perpetual peace at this time, attempts to link the newly formed republics of Europe into an ever higher harmony. For example, the French republican academic Jules Barni, a contemporary of Proudhon’s, argued that the path to freedom was both within states and through a federation of like-minded republics in a United States of Europe. But first the nation, a people, had to be awakened by free debate, by the movement of ideas, and states would have to accept the force of this intellectual enlightenment and turn towards peace by liberalising internally. Then states would be compelled to confederate, but only republican states would be capable of such a move, as only republican states would see it to be in their interest and as their manifest destiny to do so. In 1869, Barni became the leader of the third congress of the League of Peace and Freedom in Lausanne. The second congress in Berne the year before, had seen Barni share the stage with Michael Bakunin and Guissepe Garibaldi but the congress broke down over the former’s staunch atheism and their mutual demands that no republican federation would last for as long as bourgeois property relations were the norm in Europe. By the time Barni assumed the leadership of the league, the socialists and atheists were gone, replaced by bourgeois republicans that focused exclusively on the institutional architecture of a republican federation of European states, and how the problems in Poland and the despotism of the Orient might be integrated therein. Barni, like the liberals that would follow him, saw peace and freedom to lie in the progressive extension of republican institutions everywhere. As Sudhir Hazareesingh points out, ‘[s]een from this perspective, the principles governing peace among states – morality, law and confederalism – were nothing less than an application of the institu- tional design of the ideal – French – republican state to the international system’.86 Barni believed France, led by Napoleon III, could provide this shining light to the rest of Europe, but once Napoleon III was humiliated by the Prussians in 1871, Barni become a decentralist, mistrusting the autocratic tendencies of states. This widespread tendency in late and post– Second Empire French republicanism harked back to the writings of the pre-Jacobin theorists and was a direct challenge to the intellectual hegemony of the period. According to this revival of Girondist theory, peace was not only dependent on republican institutions; peace was also dependent upon the decentralisation of republican institutions, with municipalities and regions given a higher degree of autonomy. The argument was that a centralising state would dominate the regions, would also be crippled by administration and would be stifling of the impulse to freedom. Switzerland was, like for Proudhon, also Barni’s inspiration. And yet, when the Paris Commune was declared, Barni denounced it as symptomatic of a socialistic  The nineteenth-century European equilibrium 65 fanaticism he loathed and which he equated with Jacobinism.87 Barni can be accused of struggling with the proverbial barn door after the horse had bolted, but no such charge can be levelled at Proudhon. From the 1870s onwards, with the rise of Prussia and the blindsiding of the republican nationalists by autocratic states, liberals and republicans struggled with the intellectual and political consequences of a project they had worked so hard to institute. Conclusion Following Michael Howard and William McNeil, I have argued that the processes which culminated in the two world wars of the twentieth century were the consequence of the twin processes of militarisation and legitimisa- tion of the nation state that few recognised as potentially disastrous. This charge simply cannot be levelled at Proudhon. Proudhon bore witness to both these processes and was vociferous in his denunciation of both. Moreover, the wider anarchist movement that emerged during the closing years of the nineteenth century and early years of the twentieth was princi- pally concerned with these twin processes and also the exploitation at the heart of bourgeois property relations. The anarchists numbered in the tens of millions but have been all but written out of mainstream histories of the origins of the twentieth century, thereby reinforcing the idea that the travesties to which so many bore witness were inevitable, unavoidable and in keeping with the so-called realities of world politics. Contemporary liberals, continuing in a long line of thinking, today assume that institutions can mollify the worst excesses of anarchy and can lead us to a more harmonious future, while neo-Kantian critical theorists still believe that the Promised Land lies just around the corner. The past is a place of disorder and chaos and can teach us very little about the future beyond alerting us to the realities of world politics that our efforts must seek to overcome. But this narrative ignores the anarchists completely and is so deeply rooted in our understanding of history and of politics that anarchism, rather than these conventional ideas, is deemed the aberration. The aim of this chapter has thus been twofold. Primarily it has been to provide a first layer of context to Proudhon’s thinking. I have set out his understanding of the machinations of empires and states at this time and what he thought the likely outcome would be. The primary point of departure, perhaps unsurprisingly, was Proudhon’s rejection of the statism of the age. What is perhaps most surprising, from both our perspective and from the perspective of his contemporaries, is Proudhon’s acceptance of the Vienna settlement of 1815, a set of treaties which the republicans and nationalists wanted torn up. Proudhon believed that given the militarisation and industrialisation of society and state, the costs of upsetting the European equilibrium by destroying Austria and Russia would outweigh any benefits that might accrue to the republican cause. Perhaps not attentive 66 The nineteenth-century European equilibrium enough to Prussia’s rise, a feature of European politics that finally radica- lised Bakunin to the anarchist cause,88 and strangely ignorant of British colonial power, Proudhon did not see it all, but he was more alive to the likely possibility than most that French, Italian and Prussian actions would not be in the interests of the republican cause.89 Proudhon’s conclusion was that anarchy is our lot, but the precise way in which he formulates theory of anarchism is to extend rather than seek to elide it. I have hinted that federalism and the integration of autonomous natural groups plays a part in his thinking on this matter and that he takes a gradualist or reformist approach to this vision of radical social change. The aim of chapters five, six and seven is to flesh out this project in detail. The aim of the next chapter is to show why the dominance of statism in republican political thought meant none listened. We can best see why this was so by unpacking the broad contours of the republican thinking as articulated in the thought of Rousseau, Kant and Comte, who were not only the intellectual giants of the age, but are also the keys to explaining Proudhon’s anarchism. 4 War, providence and the international order in the thought of Rousseau, Kant and Comte This chapter will unpack the theodicy and philosophy of history at the heart of the republicanism of Rousseau, Kant and Comte. Their ideas became foundational to twentieth-century thinking about anarchy and world politics and the republican tradition of thinking about war and history, but more importantly were the central intellectual focal point for Proudhon’s writings on the same. For each, though in very different ways, pre-modern and modern society was anarchic, but the future would be ordered, transcending anarchy through ever more perfect republican political institutions at both a ‘domestic’ and ‘international’ level. While each prophesied the future of Europe from quite different epistemological premises, they placed war and international relations at the heart of their philosophies of history. These doctrines were the staple for the republican missionaries of the nineteenth century. Their ideas, as Elie Kedouri, Richard Tuck, John Talmon and innumerable others have shown, were the mainstay of the ideology of the nation state from the mid-nineteenth century. What few have shown, but as I will attempt to show here and in the following chapter, is how central they were to the development of Proudhon’s anarchism too. The political philosophy of anarchism was born here, in debate with the modernist and republican philosophy of history. Indeed, because so few have uncovered this context, few have grasped Proudhon’s intentions in writing about international politics. For example, Robert Hoffman’s conclusion is telling when he states that ‘La Guerre et la paix [ … ] is more philosophy of history than anything else [ … ] the peculiar view of history in La Guerre really seems to be little more than an awkward effort to provide a rationale for conclusions that he would have done better to offer and argue far differently’.1 The substantive core of La Guerre et la Paix is thus summarily dismissed and its correspondence with the standard discursive ways of debating anarchy and war in the nineteenth century is overlooked. By contrast, Amoudruz compounds our understanding of this aspect of Proudhon’s thought by ignoring the philosophical debates Proudhon was engaging in altogether. Her conclusion that he was a canny ‘petit paysanne’ overlooks the fact that his writings were developed in conversation with the erstwhile luminaries of modernity 68 War, providence and the international order and that he had, by the time he reached his mid-50s, developed into a republican political philosopher with a quite unique genius.2 More recently, attempts to abandon classical anarchism altogether for some presumed flaw of ‘positivism’, essentialism or rationalism, in favour of a poststructuralist- influenced ‘post-anarchism’ conflate the classical anarchists with their interlocutors, assuming traits that simply do not exist in the classical anar- chist canon, and/or reading back into the past meanings for such terms as ‘positivism’ that those who ascribed to this philosophy of science simply would not have recognised.3 Recounting Proudhon’s intellectual context and his engagement with it will help us better situate anarchism in the history of political thought. The central argument of this chapter is that modern thinking in relation to the concept of anarchy, particularly liberal and critical theories (set out in chapter two) that anarchy can be tamed and/or overcome, has its roots in the progressively more secular theodicy of eighteenth- and nineteenth- century philosophies of history. This was also the central debate to which Proudhon’s anarchism responded. The recovery of the emancipatory potential of anarchy has its intellectual source in a rejection of the standard tropes of modernity. In our post- or late modern era, it is common for contemporary theorists to reject the eschatology at the heart of republican and revolutionary thought, be that Kantian or Marxist. What is most surprising, as I will show in the following chapter, is that Proudhon did precisely this over 150 years ago. Thus, this chapter not only provides another layer of context for our comprehension of Proudhon’s thought, it also recounts the discursive basis of one of the first secular and revolu- tionary critiques of modernity – anarchism.4 My analysis differs from that provided by Aaron Noland on this subject. The central tension that animated Proudhon’s social theory was that between progress and providence. Whereas Noland interprets Proudhon’s use of the concept of providence to refer to ecclesiastical notions of life’s happenchance ultimately finding reason and transcendence in the afterlife, I believe a more accurate interpretation is to situate Proudhon’s theory of progress against the theory of providence developed by Kant. In the first supplement to the definitive articles of ‘Perpetual Peace’, Kant argued that: Perpetual peace is guaranteed by no less an authority than the great artist Nature herself (natura daedala rerum). The mechanical process of nature visibly exhibits the purposive plan of producing concord among men, even against their will and indeed by means of their very discord. This design, if we regard it as a compelling cause whose laws of operation are unknown to us, is called fate. But if we consider its purposive function within the world’s development, whereby it appears as the underlying wisdom of a higher cause, showing the way towards the objective goal of the human race and predetermining the world’s evolution, we call it providence.5  War, providence and the international order 69 As I will show, for Kant, this reference to nature overlays a far deeper theodicy, a cosmology of which God is the supreme architect, a God who is unquestionable and omnipotent. This framing and general problem of God’s role in human history was also a central aspect of Rousseau’s thought. Indeed, as I will argue, the social contract was in many ways a secularisation of Genevan Calvinism.6 As Despland has argued, ‘in the eighteenth century the philosophy of history was a burning religious question’.7 By the nineteenth century, it was becoming increasingly secu- larised, but the central tropes remained. Comte’s materialism and atheism precluded the hand of God in his philosophy of history, but what Comte recognised, following Rousseau, Kant and the Catholic theocrats of the period, was that without the mysticism of divine providence, secular social theory would fail to speak to the religious ethos of the times. For all three, religion was a useful tool for cowing the masses when appeals to reason failed. To this end, Comte retained the imagery, the ritual, the mysticism of Catholicism to buttress his positivist ‘Religion of Humanity’. In Comte’s hands, positivism was preordained by the ineluctable forces of history, its coming providential, and with the tools of science at our disposal we would finally be able to find our fullest self-realisation in what can only be descri- bed as one of the most rigidly hierarchical social orders ever conceived. The distance between Comte, Kant and Rousseau on the authority of the state was not that great. In terms of international relations, there was a little more variation. While Rousseau sought to institutionalise the repub- lican state universally through ever closer federation, with states progres- sively subsumed in ever larger federations, Kant believed this would amount to a new global despotism and preferred a far looser confederation of states united by bonds of hospitality. Comte, on the other hand, believed the state would wither away and be replaced by 17 autonomous republics organised internally according to the dictates of the ‘Priest Scientists’ and united by science, the ‘Religion of Humanity’. For all three, with their visions of the future world order institutionalised, anarchy would be a thing of the past. ‘Order and Progress’, Comte’s motto now emblazoned on the Brazilian flag, would be consecrated in transcendence. But war, revolution and the machi- nations of international politics would, in spite of themselves, take us there. This was the explanatory role of secular theodicy. By contrast, in a footnote to The Philosophy of Progress, Proudhon commented that: Every social theory necessarily begins with a theory of reason and a solution of the cosmotheological problem. No philosophy has lacked that requirement. This is what explains why the partisans of political and social hierarchy all begin from a theosophic idea, while the demo- crats generally incline towards an absolute emancipation of reason and conscience. In order to democratize the human race, insists Charles Lemaire, it is necessary to demonarchize the Universe.8 70 War, providence and the international order Understanding Proudhon’s thought against the secularised theodicies of Rousseau, Kant and Comte helps us understand the scale of the task Proudhon set himself and why his writings on international politics spanned seven books. Linking Proudhon back into this epochal debate ought to assist in the reintegration of anarchism in the history of political thought. There is extensive textual evidence to support the idea that not only was Proudhon engaging these ideas directly, but so too, each of these three writers developed their thinking in direct conversation with one another. Proudhon’s engagement with Rousseau was extensive and sustained throughout his writings and has been the subject of a number of penetrating studies.9 Indeed, few in nineteenth-century France could have avoided a basic familiarity with Rousseau’s writings, and Proudhon engaged them deeply and seems to have loved and hated them in equal measure. Rousseau was at once the prophet of freedom and Judas Iscariot for having betrayed the revolution with his inexcusable statism. Rousseau was the champion of the small-scale deliberative communal democracy, but also the inspiration for Robespierre’s Reign of Terror. Rousseau denounced market economies and money as a new enslavement, but refused to denounce private property and the institutions of political order it sustained. In sum, Rousseau’s republicanism was a clarion call to freedom, but failed to deliver, and Proudhon’s writings as I will show later on, are a direct engagement with what he saw as Rousseau’s broken promises. Proudhon claimed to have been reading his friend Joseph Tissot’s translation of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason from the age of 20 and his philosophy remained a constant sounding board in his writings for the following 25 years.10 Proudhon’s first extended engagement with this text was central to his attempts at crafting an ‘ideo-realist’ ontology in De la Création de L’Ordre dans l’humanité, published in 1843, which, he noted to a friend, would likely ‘bring all the Kantians down on me’.11 But it was not until Tissot published a translation of the Metaphysical Elements of Right (1797) in 1853 that Proudhon became familiar with Kant’s political philosophy and his philosophy of history.12 This translation included the essays ‘What is Enlightenment?’, ‘Perpetual Peace’, ‘Theory and Practice’ and the ‘Contest of the Faculties’, which amounts to an almost complete collection of Kant’s political writings. Almost immediately Proudhon set about framing his own response to them, which began as Philosophy du Progress (1853) and culminated in De la Justice dans la revolution et dans l’église (first edition 1858), both of which are discussed in the following chapter. If Kant provided the idealism, it was Auguste Comte that provided Proudhon with the other half of his ‘ideo-realism’. Bouglé and Cuvillier make it clear that Comte’s System of Positive Philosophy is, alongside Kant’s Critique, perhaps the key influence in Proudhon’s first attempt to set out his epistemology and philosophy of history in De la Creation de l’Ordre dans l’Humanité, despite being largely un-cited. The evidence for this is  War, providence and the international order 71 Proudhon’s use of Comte’s relational ontology and the famous law of the three stages to support his metaphysics and his philosophy of history respectively.13 They also note that in the second edition to the work, Proudhon himself notes the resemblances between the two works but claimed he discovered the ideas on his own, a position that is plausible but unlikely.14 But, they continue, it is Proudhon’s Philosophie du Progrès (1853) published the same year as Comte’s ‘Catéchisme Positiviste’, that shows the deepest influence of the latter on the former and it is this text that is the focus of my analysis of Comte.15 Of the three, Comte was, of course, Proudhon’s only contemporary, and it is somewhat amusing that he sent complementary copies of the first two volumes of his Système de Politique Positive to Proudhon in 1854, with an odd invitation to join him in proselytising the positivist ‘Religion of Humanity’.16 Comte believed Proudhon had the ear of the working classes, a central demographic for the success of Comte’s vision that despite his scientific fame he simply couldn’t reach. But Proudhon declined for many of the same anti-dogmatist reasons he gave in turning down a similar invitation from Marx and Engels to spread the gospel of communism.17 Despite this, Proudhon’s notebooks show that he read the volumes in some detail. System of Positive Politics contained many of the arguments of Comte’s earlier works, which were by then widely known and discussed. Indeed, in the preface to volume one of this work, Comte claims that this was his most important work, his career having been ‘homogenous throughout; the end being clearly aimed at from the first’.18 As if to prove this, Comte’s ‘Plan of a Scientific Work Necessary for the Reorganisation of Society’ (1822–24) or what he called his ‘Opuscule Fondamental’, the embryo of the larger work which he sent to Proudhon, and three other key early essays, are included as an appendix to the fourth volume. It is the sociological content of these works that made the deepest impression on Proudhon’s thought and the clearest evidence for this is to be found in De la Justice, his four volume magnum opus, published in 1858. It is to this text that I turn in the following chapter. My main aim in this chapter, set out in the three sections that follow, is to show that Rousseau, Kant and Comte were also extremely close readers of one another and it is in the context of the debate that I recount here that we ought to read Proudhon’s later writings on war and international relations. Rousseau Voltaire’s poem ‘The Lisbon Earthquake’ (1755) is an excellent place to begin this story. This poem expresses the anguish felt at the loss of life in one of Europe’s key centres of art, culture and politics caused by a seemingly random act of destruction. Its purpose was to question the beneficent role of God in human society and express Voltaire’s own dis- illusionment with the promises of reason and of science. How could random 72 War, providence and the international order acts of malice be a part of God’s plan and what relevance do the discoveries of science have for our moral universe if it could all come crashing down without warning. The final and most pressing question was: is this really the best of all worlds or should we expect something better to come in this life or the next? These are questions that no doubt still resonate with us today, but the terms of response were quite distinct in the second half of the eighteenth century, and Voltaire’s ambivalence reflected a more general relativism born of a disenchantment that seemed to have gripped European thought. Rousseau took exception to Voltaire’s stance and rejected the idea that there was no rhyme or reason to life or God’s will on earth. He penned his reply in August 1756. At this time Rousseau was already developing themes that were to become the Social Contract (published in 1762, but germinating as early as the late 1740s and well under construction by at least 1759).19 The similarities between the two are as striking as their profound disagreement and the themes echoed down through the next century. Neither questioned God’s existence, but both sought to provide the best account of the nature of divine providence, while bearing in mind reason and free will and the new discoveries of science.20 Alexander Pope, the key object of Voltaire’s attack, had argued that despite the calamities of nature and the failures of reason ‘all is well’. What this meant was that despite the chance machinations of life, proof of God’s plan for nature could still be divined through the use of reason and the understanding of natural laws. The laws of nature are the laws of God and thus whatever happens must be the expression of God’s will. Rousseau disagreed, as did Voltaire. Both argued that the totality of God’s plan was beyond human comprehension, and there could be no empirical proofs of God’s design. This was a political position to hold, for it denied the intermediary status of the clerics. Rather, Rousseau sought to instate the sanctity of individual reason. He put it like this: The true principles of optimism [‘all is well’] can be drawn neither from the properties of matter, nor from the mechanics of the universe, but only by inference from the perfection of God, who presides over all; so that one does not prove the existence of God by Pope’s system, but Pope’s system by the existence of God, and the question regarding the origin of evil is, without a doubt, derived from the question regard- ing Providence.21 Rousseau continued: like you [Voltaire], I am indignant that each individual’s faith does not enjoy the most perfect freedom, and that man dares to control the inner recesses of consciousness which he cannot possibly enter; as if it depended on ourselves to believe or not to believe in matters where  War, providence and the international order 73 demonstration has no place, and reason could ever be enslaved to authority. Are the Kings in this world then inspectors in the next? and have they the right to torment their Subjects here below, in order to force them to go to Paradise? No, all human Government is by its nature restricted to civil duties; and regardless of what the Sophist Hobbes may have said on the subject, when a man serves the State well, he owes no one an account of how he serves God.22 As we can see here, the reconciliation of individual reason and autonomy with providence was a central political problem, and this framing was revolutionary. Rousseau goes on to argue that what is needed is ‘a civil profession of faith’ to work out the relationship of free men to one another, unencumbered by the weight of the absolutism of either the state or the established Church and, in spite of this, to sanctify this political relationship as God’s will. ‘This work, done with care, would be the most useful book ever composed, it seems to me, and perhaps the only one needful to men.’23 Rousseau then suggested that Voltaire write such a work when he was, in all probability, already composing it himself. The broad themes of the Social Contract are well known and developed themes he’d set out in the ‘Discourse on the Origin of Inequality’. Rousseau begins from the position that the state of nature was quite a nice place, even if it was based on a-social individualism, or an anarchy as we now know it. At the point of contact between individuals, a secularised reading of the fall from grace, socialisation begins to break down our pure individuality and the crisis that the social contract must solve ensues.24 Approaching the question of political morality and order from within the discursive framework of theology and theodicy allowed Rousseau to broach the question of temporal and social evil from the perspective of a transcen- dental plan outside of history. Rousseau sought to revolutionise modern society, civilisation, in order that the true individual could emerge, and it would be republican institutions which would help realise God’s plan on earth. What impeded our true ‘sentiments of sociability’25 was a disharmony between an immoral society and our natural selves. Pace Hume and Locke, Rousseau argued that [t]he self is not a datum of the sense and can never be understood as the mere product of sense data. It is an original activity, and [following Descartes] the only evidence of such activity available to man. And this spontaneity of the self, not its receptivity, is the mark of the Divine.26 This placed all evil ‘out there’, in society and only self-knowledge, a self- knowledge derived from proximity to nature (and thus to God) can be of true educational value.27 The purpose of republican institutions would be to allow this self-knowledge to flourish unencumbered by the oppression of the Church and aristocratic order. 74 War, providence and the international order The aim of the Social Contract, a position Proudhon would develop explicitly in his first writing on the Sabbath, was ‘[t]o find a form of asso- ciation that will defend and protect the person and goods of each associate with the full common force, and by means of which each, uniting with all, nevertheless obey only himself and remain as free as before’.28 In other words, the Social Contract was designed to help us realise our God-given individuality by freeing us from the clutches of clericalism, monarchy, aristocracy, civilisation and luxury, each and every one a catalyst for amour propre, the primary vice of social life. In helping us understand ourselves by showing us how to associate in harmony with our true selves, the aggregate General Will would be no less divinely infused and its actions divinely sanctioned. The fullest realisation of our individuality was in this republican ‘Communion of Citizens’.29 But, as in Calvinist thought, there was still an intermediary between the citizens and God. In Rousseau’s thought this was the Lawgiver and in the absence of empirical proofs to sustain the notion that the republican state is necessary, ‘[t]he lawgiver must invoke the gods in order to persuade the vulgar whom he cannot convince’.30 This defence of republican unity is at the heart of Rousseau’s invocation of the Civil Religion at the end of The Social Contract. As he put it: There is therefore a purely civil profession of faith the articles of which it is up to the sovereign to fix, not precisely as dogmas of religion but as sentiments of sociability, without which it is impossible to be either a good Citizen or a loyal subject. Without being able to oblige anyone to believe them, the sovereign may banish from the state anyone who does not believe them; it may banish him, not as impious but as unsociable, as incapable of sincerely loving the laws, justice, and, if need be of sacrificing his life to his duty. If anyone, after having publicly acknowl- edged these same dogmas, behaves as if he did not believe them, let him be punished with death; he has committed the greatest of crimes, he has lied before the laws.31 The civil state supervenes all divisions in society and it is in this civil pro- fession of faith that the individual finds his fullest self-realisation. Anarchic individualism is the pathology of politics which the republican state is said to resolve by allowing us to find our true natures in republican community. Placing any group alongside the state or believing that one’s political allegiance might be owed anything other than the state, would be both idolatrous and sacrilegious. The passages on the ‘Civil Religion’ can thus be interpreted as the fulfilment of Rousseau’s theodicy or a statement of the providential nature of the republican state. But, of course, this is only half the story. When the republic is constituted as a sovereign community, it reconstitutes anarchy outside society, in the relations between states, mirroring, once again, that anarchic social state  War, providence and the international order 75 in which individuals find themselves post-fall. This secondary anarchy threatens domestic order and the achievements of republicanism in turn. Having settled the domestic question, Rousseau was immediately faced with the same conundrum in the relations between states.32 In his ‘Fragments of an Essay on the State of War’, Rousseau states quite plainly that irrespective of their internal constitutions, states constituted as public, moral persons, or sovereigns, are naturally in a state of war with one another.33 Only republican states have it within their power to overcome the inconveniences of the international anarchy by joining toge- ther under the federal pact. But, since these republican states are so few, Rousseau could see that the universal federation he desired was fanciful. As he sets out in ‘A Lasting Peace Through the Federation of Europe’, and in his critique of the Abbé Saint Pierre, only the submission of states to a European general will can secure peace. But how can this take place? Rousseau argued that the real interests of states lie in their mutual federation, but that the likelihood of this is remote since their perceived interest ‘lies in the state of absolute independence which frees Sovereigns from the reign of Law only to put them under that of chance’.34 The sover- eign independence of kings, despotic at home and adventurous abroad, ensures anarchy. Rousseau argued that it is this independence and the need to protect their petty privileges that compels monarchs to realise the higher truth that a system of perpetual peace would be in their mutual interests, but that this would be impossible to achieve in practice for as long as none are restrained and can dominate internally and externally on a whim. The consequence is perpetual war in the hope of securing perpetual peace. Paradoxically, it is war that brings about the surest possibility of social change for the better. Perpetual peace, Rousseau argues, would only be possible once perpetual war has run its course. The example he gives is of the relatively benign reign of Henry IV who in preparing for the campaigns which became the Wars of Religion was compelled to ensure that his domestic population was well tended and happy so that when he went overseas he could be sure his subjects would not rebel. And yet, the wars that ensued were ceaseless. Rousseau concludes that ‘while we admire so fair a project, let us console ourselves for its failure by the thought that it could only have been carried out by violent means from which humanity must needs shrink’. What Rousseau hints at here is that preparation for war depended on preparation that benefited the people, but the reasons Henri IV failed lay in the monarchical state system. The problem was that perpetual peace could not be established between monarchies. The Abbé Saint Pierre in proposing the project of perpetual peace to Henry IV, was being utopian. Rousseau concluded by arguing that ‘No Federation could ever be established except by a revolution. That being so, which of us would dare to say whether the League of Europe is a thing more to be desired or feared? It would perhaps do more harm in a moment than it would guard against for ages.’35 76 War, providence and the international order Rousseau suggested that immanent to the Peace of Westphalia was a legal and moral foundation for the federation of a European republic, and underpinning this formal framework was a shared religion, shared cultural norms, a shared geography and temperament, a tradition of public letters and of moral customs, and similar laws, tropes, we have seen, that were common to the conservatives. Wars may occur between these states from time to time, he concedes, but they alter only the surface appearance of a far deeper union.36 Together these deep bonds could underpin a European federation if only states could find it within themselves to reform internally and federate externally, thereby realising their immanent nature by setting their people free. Monarchic states were thus, by this analysis, like indivi- duals seeking self-knowledge. But recognising the difficulties in achieving this, Rousseau argues that ‘some coercive power must be provided to co-ordinate the actions of its members and give to their common interests and mutual obligations that firmness and consistency which they could never acquire of themselves’.37 Specifically, if we are to form a solid and lasting Federation, we must have put all the members of it in a state of such mutual dependence that no one of them is singly in a position to overbear all the others, and that separate leagues, capable of thwarting the general League, shall meet with obstacles formidable enough to hinder their formation. Failing this, the general League will be nothing but an empty name; and under an appearance of subjection, every member of it will in reality be independent.38 Freedom depends upon unbreakable mutual constraints that will ensure secession and division is impossible. He continued, the Federation must embrace all the important Powers in its member- ship; it must have a Legislative Body, with powers to pass laws and ordinances binding upon all its members; it must have a coercive force capable of compelling every State to obey its common resolves whether in the way of command or of prohibition; finally, it must be strong and firm enough to make it impossible for any member to withdraw at his own pleasure the moment he conceives his private interest to clash with that of the whole body.39 The parallel with the chapters on civil religion are striking. Just as the social contract promised to help realise the true individuality of man, so this unified Europe would strengthen rather than weaken the sovereignty of each state, give succour to the nascent societies constituting each new-born nation sate, and if the virtues of each state can be nurtured without fear of invasion, European peace will surely follow.  War, providence and the international order 77 By submitting to the decision of the Diet [a synonym for the Federal power] in all disputes with his equals, and by surrendering the perilous right of seizing other men’s possessions, he is, in fact, doing nothing more than securing his real rights and renouncing those which are purely fictitious. Besides, there is all the difference in the world between dependence upon a rival and dependence upon a Body of which he is himself a member.40 Federation would bring European peace much as the republican constitu- tion would end civil war and end the avaricious instincts of man, thereby bringing peace to Europe for once and for all. And how is this state of affairs likely to come about? As Karma Nabulsi has shown in one of the few discussions of Rousseau’s views on the subject, the international corollary of Rousseau’s position on revolution were his views on the defen- sive war, undertaken in order to defend the republican state from foreign encroachments and threats and to defend the successes of said revolution.41 But the morality of these wars was dependent on the full participation of a patriotic citizenry, galvanised by their liberty in equality and realised through the democratic expression of the General Will. War is just insofar as it will either defend or promote this republican ideal, and war and revolution, despite its brutality and destruction would, by providence, usher history forth. Kant Kant’s monumental statement of rationalist metaphysics, Critique of Pure Reason, was published in 1781, and having set down in fastidious and symmetrical detail his thinking on the source and basis of reason and cognition, he turned his attention to the philosophy of history. ‘Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose’ and ‘An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?’ were published in 1784. Five years later, the French Revolution was under way. The Reign of Terror began the year Louis XVI was guillotined, 1793, and ended the following year with the execution of Robespierre himself, the last of some 40,000 people to be killed by the state in the name of the Republic. France was at war almost immediately and the levée en masse galvanised the first citizen army in history, leading to revolutionary wars that lasted for the next 20 years. In 1795 one of the first victories of the war, France defeated Prussia and imposed the punitive Treaty of Basel, recognising French occupation of the left bank of the Rhine. Kant’s famous essay ‘Perpetual Peace’ was pub- lished that year and is arguably his call to end the processes he believed would bury Europe for good. Paradoxically, however, ‘Perpetual Peace’ was used by the French Republicans as a new rallying cry for perpetual war.42 This is not surprising, because Kant was both extending and providing a critique of Rousseau’s writings on the Abbé Saint Pierre. Indeed, as Ernst 78 War, providence and the international order Cassirer has argued, Rousseau’s project as a whole was a central focal point for Kant. Kant is said to have read Rousseau’s work of educational and moral theory, Émile, in one sitting and Rousseau’s portrait was the only picture to adorn Kant’s modest, if not austere, dwellings. But Kant sought to think Rousseau’s ideas further and ‘create that wider and deeper idea of ‘reason’ which could do justice to Rousseau’s ideas and incorporate them in itself ’.43 If, as I have suggested, Rousseau’s politics can be understood in terms of an attempt to recover a romantic and passionate prelapsarian human goodness through more effective republican institutions, Kant’s philosophy seeks out a much more austere, rational intellectual development in the ideal political institutions. Kant had good reasons for rejecting Roussea’s roman- ticism, not least the living evidence of where he felt the passions of the Parisian republicans led. By Kant’s account, there is little in the past that is of moral value. Rather than see our natures as fixed and the mark of a good life being one which seeks to realise the fulfilment of that nature in this life, Kant assumed that the fulfilment of our natures would only be possible at a species level and in the fullness of historical time, if ever.44 Human cogni- tion, Kant argued, marked us out from all other species and from nature herself but placed us on parallel developmental paths. In his view, while all of nature was governed by Newtonian laws, human cognition was not. In order that we could understand ourselves as free, this had to be the case. Otherwise, we would be like the beasts: slaves to our instincts and passions. It was precisely because of this that the aim of Kant’s critical philosophy was to demonstrate the possibility that human cognition and the laws of nature would eventually merge in transcendent harmony and again, repub- lican states were central to that. Kant’s famous division between noumena and phenomena, the latter objects of possible experience, the former not, was central to affirming the autonomy of reason. Reason was noumenal, beyond the empirical realm. This had to be the case, he argued, if we were to be able to explain reason and free will in a mechanical Newtonian universe. How could we come to know the laws of nature if we were governed by them? By positing a categorical distinction between one and the other Kant was able to claim that cognition was the precondition of knowing nature and only by under- standing nature on the one hand and correctly divining the fundamental architecture of this cognitive apparatus, the noumena, could we then order our individual and social lives to develop in harmony with nature. This was a subtle if profound distinction to Rousseau’s schema. If, as Rousseau assumed, the process of recovery of an innate and passionate instinct was central to grounding the ideal polity, then any number of despotisms could be defended by those who would claim to better understand the essence of man. The philosophes, clergy and despots did just this. Kant argued that there had to be a universal reason which could adjudicate between these positions, objectively.  War, providence and the international order 79 The detail of Kant’s elaboration of the architecture of reason is staggering and can only really be hinted at here. Kant reasoned that the noumenal realm must be composed of 12 ‘categories’ and a number of corresponding ‘concepts’ and ‘ideas’ which, combined in various ways, can make objective sense of the phenomenal world out there. These categories, ideas and con- cepts can do this because they are innate, universal and transcendental, thereby in principle linking all rational beings (the list of who was such a being excluded 50 per cent of the human population, i.e. women).45 Concepts and categories combine to create a ‘manifold’ of apriori ideas. They are apriori because they are independent of experience; they precede cognition and are the precondition of it. Without this ‘manifold’, cognition itself would be impossible. Kant’s critical project was centrally devoted to ‘an argument that will show that the world, and not just our experi- ence of the world, is in conformity with the[se] apriori principles of the understanding’.46 Kant’s famous position on lying illustrates this argument neatly and also links this rationalism to the concept of free will. Let us take a voluntary action – for example, a malicious lie [ … ]. We at first proceed to examine the empirical character of the offence, and for this purpose we endeavour to penetrate to the sources of that character, such as a defective education, bad company, a shameless and wicked disposition, frivolity, and want of reflection – not forgetting also the occasioning causes which prevailed at the moment of the transgression [ … ]. Now, although we believe the action to have been determined by all these circumstances, we do not the less blame the offender [ … ]. Our blame of the offender is grounded upon a law of reason, which requires us to regard this faculty as a cause, which could have and ought to have otherwise determined the behaviour of the offender, independently of all empirical conditions [ … ]. It follows that we regard reason, irrespective of the empirical conditions of the act, as completely free, and therefore, as in the present case, culpable.47 And yet, lie we do, and routinely. This, Kant argues, is the consequence of irrational and passionate behaviour. But rather than act as a block on human development, the passions, while ‘pathological’,48 are its principal motor. The flaws of the passions, however, cause us to turn inwards and to reason, to reconsider and to become enlightened. But this process is not instinctive. Ascertaining why we should or shouldn’t lie is one thing, but for Kant the highest expression of human cognition is the attempt at the transcendental deduction of the antinomies. The antinomies of pure reason lie at the rational limits of cognition and arise mainly from the vanities of speculative metaphysics: cosmology, theology and psychology. If we take cosmology, for example, Kant saw four antinomies arising from speculation about our 80 War, providence and the international order place within, and the nature of, the cosmos. These are, the antinomy between beginning and end (fundamentally a question about finitude and infinity), parts and the whole (of substance); determined and undetermined (causation); existence vs the non-existence of God (theology). The poles of these antinomies have no meaning without their opposite, have no ontolo- gical status except in tandem, and cannot be reconciled or transcended. They are ontological absolutes which we as humans cannot think beyond. For example, there is no ‘proof ’ of the existence or absence of God; no cause is final or the first, and so on. While Hegel was famously to suggest a dialectical means beyond the antinomies, for Kant they set the rational limits of human thought beyond which it is futile to extend. But as Roger Scruton argues, ‘The assumption of totality which generates them is both the cause and effect of all that is most serious in science’.49 While the anti- nomies operate as a check on speculative pure reason, the antagonism between the antinomies compels (but does not cause) the reason of the savant to extend to its limits and then reflect back upon itself dialectically, which induces thought to be critical. Contemplating the realm at the limits of pure reason is thus a precondition of the possibility of thought as such. Nor is the theological antinomy a quirk of eighteenth-century moralism, it is vital to Kant’s system as a whole. Kant subscribed to the ontological fallacy in relation to God, which is to say that he argued that God cannot be posited or understood empirically for that would be to corrupt ‘His’ perfection. God, like reality or perfection, can only be posited as ideas without empirical form. Theology, like cosmology, forces us to strive to know God, to challenge the theological antinomy and develop our ideas about nature. The core idea to hold in this context is that there must be a ‘Supreme Being, who is the free and intelligent author of all things’.50 Like Rousseau, Kant agrees that ‘The idea of a Supreme Being is in many respects a highly useful idea; but for the very reason that it is an idea, it is incapable of enlarging our knowledge with regard to the existence of things’.51 But in relation to morality and history, the idea of God is irreplaceable.52 Like ideas in general, ‘[i]f we review our knowledge in its entire extent, we shall find that the peculiar business of reason is to arrange it into a system, that is to say, to give it connection according to a principle’.53 The more rational and logical our ideas and the closer they correspond to the dictates of reason and logic, the architecture of the mind and so on, the more likely they are to guide us to the fabled Kingdom of Ends, a time in which our ideas become one in transcendent harmony with nature itself. The ‘Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose’ is precisely Kant’s attempt to sketch just such an ‘idea’. Its first proposition states that, ‘All the natural capacities of a creature are destined sooner or later to be developed completely in conformity with their end’. This is what Kant describes as a ‘teleological theory of nature’, which if abandoned  War, providence and the international order 81 would imply that ‘we are faced not with a law-governed nature, but with an aimless, random process, and the dismal reign of chance replaces the guiding principle of reason’.54 The aim of reason is to discover human history’s transcendental purpose, a task that is far more complex to achieve than it would be, say, ‘with bees or beavers’.55 Bees and beavers, it is implied, were designed to exist in harmony with their natures and surroundings and so, do so automatically. Likewise in ‘Perpetual Peace’, Kant observes that reindeer and camels ‘seem [ … ] as if [they] had been created’56 for their locations. If nature is not to be seen to be ‘indulging in childish play in the case of man alone’,57 humans must also be in a process of moral and rational evolution, the end-point of which will be the equivalent of the beaver’s ‘automatic’58 social regulation. The sociological equivalent of the antinomies of pure reason is ‘antagon- ism’. ‘By antagonism’, he writes, ‘I mean in this context the unsocial socia- bility of men, that is, their tendency to come together in society, coupled, however, with a continual resistance which constantly threatens to break this society up’.59 Our instinctive, animal impulse draws humans together into society but our passions constantly work to break this society down. ‘Man wishes concord’, he continues, ‘but nature, knowing better what is good for his species, wishes discord [ … which] would seem to indicate the hand of a wise creator – not, as it might seem, the hand of a malicious spirit who had meddled in the creator’s glorious work or spoiled it out of envy’.60 This is, like Rousseau’s ideas before him, a classic statement of eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century theodicy. War becomes a central case in point. In ‘Perpetual Peace’ Kant argues that ‘War itself [ … ] does not require any particular kind of motivation, for it seems to be ingrained in human nature, and even to be regarded as something noble to which man is inspired by his love of honour, without selfish motives’.61 In the ‘Metaphysics of Morals’, Kant concedes that there are plenty of rational reasons for going to war, for example, because ‘it may bring culture to uncivilised peoples [ … ] and on the other, it may help us to purge our country of depraved characters, at the same time affording the hope that they or their offspring will become reformed in another continent (as in New Holland)’,62 but the historical purpose of war is quite another matter. In the ‘Idea’ Kant suggests that, All wars are accordingly so many attempts (not indeed by the intention of men, but by the intention of nature) to bring about new relations between states, and, by the destruction or at least the dismemberment of old entities, to create new ones. But these new bodies, either of themselves or alongside one another, will in turn be unable to survive, and will thus necessarily undergo further revolutions of a similar sort, till finally, partly by common external agreement and legislation, a state of affairs is created which, like a civil commonwealth, can maintain itself automatically.63 82 War, providence and the international order The creation of the ‘civil commonwealth’ is thus compelled upon men by the pressures of war, a ‘pathologically enforced social union is [thereby] transformed into a moral whole’.64 The problem of finding the perfectly just civil constitution is one of Biblical proportions and ‘is both the most difficult and the last to be solved by the human race’.65 The end of history – or its fulfilment – is the discovery of a civil order that will harmonise man and nature. As is well known, the ‘First Definitive Article’ of Perpetual Peace stipulates that this political order must necessarily be republican in constitution. The republicanism of Kant’s system is famously under- specified, but this need not concern us here.66 What is clearer is the place of God and the Supreme Being in the moral justification of the state. Following Rousseau, Kant also stipulated that religion and the idea of God was central to cementing the authority of the state. Moreover, the origin of secular power ought to be kept beyond lay analysis. As he put it in the Metaphysics of Morals: The origin of the supreme power [like the Supreme Being before it], for all practical purposes, is not discoverable by the people who are subject to it. In other words, the subject ought not to indulge in speculations about its origins with a view to acting upon them, as if its right to be obeyed were open to doubt (jus controversum).67 Echoing Rousseau again, Kant argues that to disobey the supreme power would warrant being ‘punished, eliminated or banished as an outlaw’.68 The supreme power is sanctified by the ‘Idea’ that ‘“all authority comes from God” which is not a historical derivation of the civil constitution, but an idea expressed as a practical principle of reason, requiring men to obey [ … ] irrespective of origins’.69 He is quite clear that representatives therefore ought to look after subjects or citizen’s rights ‘on their behalf ’, and that this representation is held in perpetuity. Since the sovereign ‘allows himself to be represented’, sovereignty itself becomes popularised without any popular participation and without representatives. Were they given more direct participation, the people ‘might then destroy all the new institutions again by their absolute and arbitrary will’.70 Kant, a supporter of the French Revolution, nevertheless lamented its descent into terror and was convinced that the problem lay outside. The problem the revolutionaries faced was how to defend their gains when all around them monarchies conspired to realise their defeat. Moreover, how could the revolution both protect republican gains while also pro- tecting the autonomy of other states from the republican onslaught from France? As the seventh proposition of the ‘Idea’ puts it, an argument repeated as the ‘Second Definitive Article’ of ‘Perpetual Peace’, ‘[t]he problem of a perfect civil constitution is subordinate to the problem of a law-governed external relationship with other states, and cannot be solved unless the latter is also solved’.71 Here we find both the originality  War, providence and the international order 83 of Kant’s position and the symmetry with Rousseau’s. Each state had to enter, a federation of peoples in which every state, even the smallest, could expect to derive its security and rights not from its own power or its own legal judgement, but solely from this great federation (Foedus Amphictyonum), from a united power and the law-governed decisions of a united will. However wild and fanciful this idea may appear – and it has been ridiculed as such when put forward by the Abbé St Pierre and Rousseau (perhaps because they thought that its realisation was so imminent) – it is nonetheless the inevitable outcome of the distress in which men involve one another.72 The detail of Kant’s project is more modest that the one proposed by Rousseau, designed mainly to protect autonomy of states while developing a loose confederation and system of law between them. The international authoritarianism of Rousseau’s vision is tempered by the threat of war and the machinations of international politics, which ‘compel our species to discover a law of equilibrium to regulate the essentially healthy hostility which prevails among states and is produced by their freedom’.73 Kant concluded the ‘Idea’ with the sentiment that first prompted Rousseau to compose the Social Contract and was echoed by every social engineer to follow: ‘A philosophical attempt to work out a universal history of the world in accordance with a plan of nature aimed at a perfect civil union of mankind, must be regarded as possible and even as capable of furthering the purpose of nature itself.’74 Few others have surpassed Auguste Comte’s attempt at this, and as we now know, Kant’s republicanism was, perhaps ironically, the rallying cry for the very revolutionary processes Comte, writing during the Restoration period, sought to bring to a final end. Comte Auguste Comte emerged as one of the most important social theorists in French history during the Restoration period and alongside the re-emergence of the Catholic theocrats. The revolutionary wars had cata- clysmic effects on the European popular psyche. On the one hand, all that was solid had seemingly melted into air, to paraphrase Marx, with the divine rights of monarchies and the Pope tossed aside by a rampant Napoleonic republicanism. At the end of the wars, with the emergence of the Holy Alliance and concert system, the Catholic theocrats claimed that Europe was once more resting on its natural foundations and that the revolution had been an historical aberration in a more general historical narrative of divine right to rule. Comte’s writings developed in this social context, drawing liberally on the writings of Joseph de Maistre. But of perhaps more importance for our purposes is Comte’s debt to Kant and how 84 War, providence and the international order the debate he carries on with both Kant and Rousseau was taken up by Proudhon. As Comte stated in the preface to the Catechisme Positiviste (1852), ‘Hume is my principle precursor in philosophy, but with Hume I connect Kant as an accessory. Kant’s fundamental conception was never really systematized and developed but by Positivism.’75 Comte develops Kant’s framework towards a materialist and vitalist sociology. While this would have been antithetical to Kant, Comte truly saw himself as continuing in his footsteps. In December 1824, when Comte was slowly emerging from the shadow of his illustrious mentor Claude Henri de Rouvroy, Comte de Saint-Simon, he confided in a letter to Gustave d’Eichatel, who had recently translated Kant’s ‘Idea of a Universal History’ and fragments of the Critique of Pure Reason for him, that, ‘[a]fter reading this, I hardly find … any value [in my own Opuscule Fondamental] other than that of having systematised and fixed the conception sketched out by Kant without my knowledge’.76 Comte’s premier biographer, Mary Pickering, observes that having read Kant’s work his praise became uncharacteristically gushing: ‘[n]ever had he lavished so much praise on another thinker’.77 D’Eichatel subsequently managed to convince Comte to use Kant’s teleological theory of nature to buttress his own philosophy of history. In his next essay, ‘Philosophical Considerations on the Sciences and Scientists’, Comte then used Kant to ‘remove all doubts regarding the validity of the law of three stages’.78 This debt obscures a fundamental disagreement at the heart of their two systems. Comte developed a radical, sociological and positivist reading of the Aristotelian tradition. Recall that Kant bracketed nature in respect of moral reasoning, for if reason were phenomenal ‘the causality of reason would [then] be subservient to the natural law of appearances [ … ] it would consequently cease to be freedom and become a part of nature’.79 This is precisely the position Comte adopts and in this respect, the reference to Hume (earlier) is illustrative. The political corollary is that the ‘nature of things [ … ] absolutely prohibits freedom of choice by showing, from several distinct points of view, the class of scientists to be the only one suited to carry out the theoretical work of social reorganisation’.80 Even if this debate were not so central to understanding Proudhon’s thought, it is still fascinating and epochal in its own right. Comte was a positivist. ‘All Positive belief ’, he stated, ‘rests on this two- fold harmony between the object and the subject’,81 that is, the synthesis of the senses and cognition. For Comte, by contrast to Kant, cognition is a material process, and one that we share unequally due to the brains we are born with and the inequalities in our human form; some of us stronger, others, more cerebral perhaps, and so on and so forth.82 Furthermore, Comte argued that our social status, background and environment shapes our ideas and the special functions of intellect are simply structured material responses to outside stimuli: ‘Cognition is never effective’, he argued, ‘until  War, providence and the international order 85 the outward impression corresponding to it has been repeated sufficiently often’,83 and, ‘from the Biological point of view, this dependence of the Intellect on Sensation is perfectly analogous to that of the bodily Func- tions upon the Environment which controls the whole vital Existence’.84 Human functions, while individually particular, are a ‘complex result’ and an ‘irreducible’ property of human ‘social evolution’.85 Quite contrary to Kant, then, and almost a decade before Darwin published his magnum opus, Comte argued that science ‘now regard[s] all forms of life simply as an evolution, and we discard any notion of creation in the proper sense of that word’.86 Comte, however, saw this process teleologically, in the sense that our true form was given in the past and it was the purpose of positivism to show how history had brought that form to fruition. Epistemologically, truth, the holy grail of positivism, is thus a: conception that shall harmonise with the total sum of impressions received from without. The less distinct these impressions are, the greater is the effort of the mind to substitute its own combinations, which are very subtle and far-fetched. When there is a strong desire for a decision, and yet no external facts sufficient to justify it, it is sometimes founded on purely internal reasons, due simply to a strong relation of the Heart upon the Intellect.87 But rather than dismiss these passionate impulses, Comte believed they needed to be harnessed more effectively. If we all had natural impulses, the object of science was to better understand them and then order society accordingly. Echoing Fourier’s famous argument that since children enjoy playing in dirt, they would be perfect candidates for street cleaners, Comte also believed that our natural propensities dictated our social position in the complex division of labour. Contrary to Kant, then, Comte observed that traditionally, ‘science, agreeing with theology, always spoke of the passions as if we had none but bad ones’,88 but echoing Fourier’s anti-rationalism, he thought idealism ‘as injurious to morality as it is erroneous in philosophy’.89 He was, it goes without saying, a staunch materialist. So, how does this translate into a philosophy of history? If what we are is structured by impressions from without and by our species’ evolution, then the formative role of the material history of society is of central explanatory importance. Tracing the material evolution of society is the key to under- standing our future final form. Society, or what Comte called variously, the ‘Great Being’ or ‘Humanity’, precedes us and unavoidably structures our choices and agency. ‘Humanity, as a whole, must ever constitute the principal motor of every operation we undertake, be it physical, intellectual, or moral. At the same time, we must never forget that [ … ] the Great Being cannot act except through individual agents.’90 Comte devotes large parts of his analysis to a discussion of the origins of language to illustrate this point, showing, principally, how 86 War, providence and the international order language gives us a sense of how indebted we are to society, without which we could not speak.91 Considered in this way, ‘[t]he chronological order of the epochs is not the philosophical order. Instead of saying: past, present, future, we should say: past, future, present’.92 For Comte ‘we shall see that the same course followed by the new system had been necessitated by the situation of its elements at their origin’.93 Comte’s ‘law of the three stages’ is perhaps his most famous theory. Building on insights he derived from Kant, he made it explicitly teleological and providential. Every theoretical conception passes necessarily through three successive stages. The first is the theological, or fictitious. The second, meta- physical, or abstract. The third, positive, or real. The first is always provisional. The second simply transitional. The third alone is definitive. The difference of this last from the two former is characterised by its substitution of the relative for the absolute, when at length the study of laws has taken the place of the inquiry into causes. There is, at bottom, no other difference between the two others, in point of theory, than this: that the deities recognised by the first are reduced by the second to mere entities, or abstractions. The fictions of theology, in consequence of this transformation, lose, together with their supernatural character, their strength and consistence. They become socially useless, and even mentally; metaphysics are at last nothing but simply a solvent of theology.94 The intermediary age was nothing more than a ‘solvent’ of the first, a necessary but false staging post to a higher plane of social existence. The metaphysicians were critics; Comte was a positivist. Kant had insights that could only be finalised by Comte. For example, this social and historical law is mirrored in individual psychological development where child-like fetishism gives way to meta- physical absolutism and then to mature, positive rationality. Kant suggested that this process was intellectual, for Comte it was achieved by the changed material circumstances within which individuals were born and in spite of themselves. The central material process was the progressively more complex division of labour. For Comte, the development of the division of labour, that is the emergence of plural classes, most notably the labouring classes, the bourgeoisie and the scientific cadre, was the culmination of a long historical process in which social forms and intellect failed to find harmony, until the level of social development of France in the nineteenth century, finally brought about conditions for positivism to flourish, with Comte inevitably its ‘High Priest’. ‘But’, he warns, in proportion as the phenomena become more complicated, they become more exposed to disturbance. Hence the need of greater efforts  War, providence and the international order 87 to maintain their normal state [ … ]. Our highest liberty, then, consists in making, as far as possible, our good inclinations predominate over our bad [ … ] in consistent obedience to the fundamental laws of the whole order of things.95 The providential role of positivist science was to set down the laws that humans must obey. The scientists’ mission could not be more vital to human life. The purpose of science is to help us develop morally. Scientists have a duty to devise the most appropriate social order such that our true natures can be given the fullest flight. As moral improvement comes from social immersion, social engineering based on the discoveries of sociology is the historic duty of the enlightened. Thankfully, should the enlightened fail to appreciate the importance of their historic task, war will push them to it regardless. To produce great results, war requires the collective action of large bodies. Hence it is peculiarly adapted to form strongly cemented and permanent associations, in which the sympathy is intense though limited in extent. In war the sense of solidarity, of common interest, is very strong. Lastly, it is only by war that can be effected the formation of large States by a gradual process of incorporations. The result of incorporation is to confine military activity to the ruling people, and give it a higher character by giving it a noble destination. There is no other method generally applicable by which the aversion man at first feels for all regular labour can be overcome.96 Sloth and bellicosity are the two natural compulsions that lead to war, but which also compel humans to society and to industry. Internal material development compels opposing states to plan to conquer and to appropriate, which compels the more developed state to develop internally to meet that threat, which forces other states to develop in turn or be swallowed themselves. The only means by which human association can be carried to its fullest extent is Labour. But the first steps in the development of labour suppose the pre-existence of large societies; and these can be founded only by War. Now the formation of large societies came to pass naturally from the spontaneous tendency of military activity to establish the universal dominion.97 As Comte put it, ‘Man’s existence is in fact originally warlike. It becomes ultimately completely industrial. But it passes through an intermediate stage in which conquest ceases and defensive war takes its place.’98 This understanding of defensive war and the role of war in the development of states corresponds almost directly with the wider republican tradition of 88 War, providence and the international order thinking about war, and specifically the providentialist and theological aspects of republicanism, which I have been discussing thus far. What are unique to Comte are the materialism, rigid determinism of the account and the centrality of labour to the narrative. As Comte saw it, our natural disinclination to labour (sloth) and our propensity for war, sow the seeds of the destruction of empires and the emergence of well-ordered republics, ruled first by a military elite and then progressively taken over by an enlightened cadre of ‘Priest Scientists’.99 Comte claimed that history had, by the mid-1850s, developed to its final stage, that positivism was the fulfilment of history and that he, as the founder of sociology was rightly ‘The High Priest of Humanity’. Like Rousseau and Kant, Comte also had his own utopian prophesies that bear discussion to preface our understanding of Proudhon. In the future, Comte argued, ‘political societies shall exist within limits much narrower than those usual at the present day’.100 Country [la patrie … ] has in modern times become too vague, and consequently almost without influence, as a result of the exorbitant extension of the States of the Western world. We must [ … ] look on the republics of the future as much smaller than the revolutionary prejudices of the present day seem to consider probable. The gradual break-up of the colonial system since the independence of America is, in reality, only the first step towards a final disruption of all the over- grown kingdoms which arose on the dissolution of the Catholic bond of union.101 Comte suggested, with some foresight as it happens, that the collapse of the European empires was imminent. Less accurately, he believed that the French Republic would be broken up into 17 independent republics, each comprising five of the existing departments. He thought Britain would also break up into its separate parts with Ireland and Portugal likely to be the largest republics in Europe.102 Comte believed that war would decrease as republics were reduced in size and brought into closer internal and external harmony and as the three classes of society (workers, patricians and scientists) found their proper places in relation to one another, all united religiously rather than politically, according to the gospel of positivism. ‘Positivism [ … ] will gradually unite all nations with the unity which is its characteristic, the only unity which is worthy of universal extension.’103 In Comte’s technocratic utopia ‘the government of things replaces that of men’104 and the state would eventually ‘wither away’.105 Utopia would be marked by the ‘Devotion of strong to the weak; veneration of the weak for the strong. Mankind is born for the few.’106 Positivism would bring the ‘natural subordination of man to the world to the highest point of perfection’, and the Priesthood would be the ‘immediate organ of supreme authority’,  War, providence and the international order 89 a ‘sociocracy’.107 All talk of rights, born principally of the new enlight- enment notion of individual sovereignty, ‘are as absurd as they are immoral’. In the Positivist Religion of Humanity ‘we only recognise duties as the consequence of functions’.108 As Comte put it: ‘liberty consists in obeying, without any hindrance, the laws which in each case are applicable. When a body falls, it shows its liberty, by moving according to its nature towards the centre of the earth, with a velocity proportionate to the time.’109 The aim is to end the anarchy that had characterised the discord of the previous half-century of ‘critical philosophy’, to end ‘the revolt of the intellect against all legitimate control’.110 Force, he says, is the essential basis of every human society. We have only to suppose it absent, as happens in times of anarchy. Those who are indignant with Hobbes’ principle would be rather perplexed, if they were told that political government must be based on weakness, if it be not based on force.111 Commentators are one that Comte was probably insane. Pickering has also argued that ‘in a sense Rousseau’s Legislator lived on in Comte’s spiritual power’,112 and Manuel has argued that as in the General Will, ‘[t]he impression is inescapable that in the positivist religion there is a total loss of personality as man is merged in the perfect transcendent unity of Humanity’.113 Raymond Aron gets to the heart of Comte’s megalomania when he states that Comte, ‘made an exact diagram of his dreams, or of the dreams each of us may invent in those moments when he takes himself for God’.114 Conclusion The aim of this chapter has been to set out the providentialist elements of this part of the republican tradition of thought to which we are heirs and against which Proudhon developed his anarchism. To this end, I have articulated an account of the thought of Rousseau, Kant and Comte, showing, in broad terms, that war, providence and the international order are central to their social theory and to their ideas of social progress. This account was presented in three parts: I reconstructed their basic social theories, linked those to their ideas about the ideal state and how their understanding of war was central to explicating their philosophies of history, and to how each understood the palliative effects of federalism. Each developed their thinking about international relations in terms of a progressively more secular theodicy designed to account for the possibility of transcendence and order in spite of human evil. The problem all three encountered, however, was that in erasing anarchy ‘domestically’ they were merely pushing it ‘out there’, into the international realm. For each, then, the solution to the international anarchy was much like their solution 90 War, providence and the international order for domestic anarchy – republicanism – only this time, the republican order had to be universal and the only way humans were likely to realise it was through the progressive incorporation of other states into the republican orbit, which would demand war and revolutions in neighbouring states. Republican nation states, it seemed, were the fulfilment of nature’s plan for humans. Proudhon, like contemporary IR theory, struggled with the intellectual and social consequences of this line of thinking. We do so from the perspective of hindsight, Proudhon with foresight. The methodological nationalism we are trying to think beyond today, and our understandings of anarchy that attend it, emerged alongside this revolutionary republicanism. Anarchism also emerged in this context and it is interesting that con- temporary international political theory should be making the same sorts of moves away from methodological and political nationalism that char- acterised Proudhon’s thought all those years ago and in general ignorance of the wider historical and contemporary anarchist discourse. The time is now ripe for a revival of anarchist thought. Again, Thomas Kuhn’s observation, that paradigms are only really accepted once their general conclusions have been adopted by other means, seems particularly apposite. And anarchism was just such a paradigm shift in the history of political thought, even if it has been completely ignored. As Alexander Herzen argued of Proudhon’s ideas as he was writing them: The French seek experimental solutions in him, and, finding no plans for the [Fourierist] phalanstery nor for [Cabet’s] Icarian community, shrug their shoulders and lay the book aside [ … ] Proudhon is the first of a new set of thinkers. His work marks a transition period, not only in the history of socialism, but also in the history of French logic.115 It is to this radical ‘transition’ in French social theory that we now turn. 5 From providence to immanence Force and justice in Proudhon’s social ontology The aim of the next three chapters is to turn the conventional nineteenth- century republican view of politics on its head by providing an original account of Proudhon’s international political theory. Rather than see domestic politics as a template for rethinking international order, I will now show how Proudhon argued that international anarchy might be seen as a template for theorising republican freedom more generally. What we find in Proudhon’s social theory is a radical extension of Waltz’s claim that there are distinct virtues to anarchy, a position I discussed in chapter two, but that anarchy must be institutionalised across all domains of social life if it is to realise its fullest emancipatory potential. If most IR scholars have now come to the position that at worst anarchy is indeterminate, but at best provides a sure check against domination in world politics, then there is a prima facie argument to be made that anarchy might be rethought as an underlying principle of social order as such, both analytically and normatively. Analytically, I will show that Proudhon argued that all social order is constituted in anarchy, and normatively I will show that it follows that republican freedoms demand the institutionalisation of anarchy. The main reasons that such a proposition would strike most as ludicrous surely have their roots in the nineteenth-century republican mindset, a set of ideas and beliefs I have spent the last two chapters setting out. By this account, anarchy is the problem that good social theory must seek to resolve. As Richard Ashley has argued, this project has rendered IR and political theory something of a ‘heroic practice’1 and, by extension, IR theorists become the caped crusaders bringing order to chaos by finding the true principle of social harmony and then, by whispering their truths to power, make all of society bend to the ideas of whichever theorist happens to be most in vogue.2 The imposition of these transcendent con- ceptions of order have the consequence of entrenching domination, whether that domination is sustained through the realist ideology of the international anarchy, a modern-day Holy Alliance, or through the institutionalisation of a liberal order, mistakenly believed to be the culmination of history. But few if any have investigated how anarchy might help institutionalise freedom. 92 From providence to immanence In order to set out the alternative provided by Proudhon, the following three chapters follow the narrative structure that shaped my analysis of Rousseau, Kant and Comte, because this is also the general analytical structure Proudhon followed. Chapters six and seven set out Proudhon’s philosophy of history and his normative political theory, which is to say his theory of war and history and his vision of an ideal republican political order. But I begin in this chapter with an original account of Proudhon’s social theory.3 This is the foundation upon which the rest of his political philosophy is based. So, to this end, I discuss his radically pluralist, relational social ontology; his ‘ideo-realist’ epistemology; his non- reductionist account of cognition, of agency and of structure; his theory of the reality of social groups, the source of individuality and his theory of alienation and of the source of justice and morality. The account is given shape by a focus on two key concepts: justice and immanence. Proudhon’s social theory seeks to defend the basic proposition that there is no grand telos to history. Rather, social order is immanent to history, it is therefore contingent and complex, exhibiting no grand telos or transcen- dent principle. Justice is therefore a sociological rather than rational or transcendent category. But, as I will also show, while it is immanent to society, justice is also, for Proudhon (but contra Comte), immanent to individuality. The conflictual dialectic between the free individual and the structures of society, their relationality, reality and historical character, is thus central to an account of justice. But for Proudhon, there is no transcendence. As I will develop considerably in the following chapter, it is conflict and war that gives dynamism to history and society, but this process shows no directionality except that which attends to the greatest force. Anarchism is a re-calibration of forces and, Proudhon believed, the culmination of the republican impulse. This will be hinted at here and in the following chapter, but the fullest explanation of this theory comes in chapter seven. The textual focus of the chapter is Proudhon’s undisputed magnum opus, De la Justice dans la Révolution et dans l’Église. Études de philosophie pratique [On Justice in the Revolution and in the Church. Studies in Practical Philosophy]. This is undeniably the summary statement of his thinking before he began to write on the subject of international relations. The most recent edition of this work (1988/1990) comes in at 2,358 pages, divided between four volumes and 12, separate but interconnected études. Each deals with a separate topic: the meaning of philosophy; the source of individuality (‘les personnes’); questions of distributional justice (‘les biens’); the state; work; education; the source and nature of ideas; progress and decline; conscience and liberty; women; love and marriage; and finally, ‘the moral sanction’. In this sense, it achieves Proudhon’s stated aim of compiling ‘a sort of encyclopaedia whose principle, law, methodology, and aim, is right’, and also earned him Metternich’s dubious accolade of being ‘an illegitimate child of the Encyclopaedia’.4  From providence to immanence 93 The first edition of De la Justice was published on 22 April 1858. By this time, what was originally a polemical pamphlet designed to rebut a vicious biography by a Catholic ideologue, had expanded through three volumes of 1,675 pages. The initial print run of 6,000 copies sold out within days – an unqualified success by any standard for a work of this type and length. Three further print runs were ordered simultaneously and might well have sold another 30,000 copies in the first year of publication had the authorities not slammed that door shut by censoring the work and fining the publishers. It was seen by the authorities as an attack on public morals and the political order of Napoleon III’s new imperial project, which it most certainly was. Proudhon complained that the subsequent black market prices being charged for copies of the work (some 200 francs) were extortionate.5 Whatever delight he may have experienced at the work’s success, however, had to be enjoyed from Belgium, because, facing another prison sentence, he chose to go into exile instead. Two months after the publication of the first edition, and almost immediately upon settling into a small apartment in the Ixelles district of Brussels, Proudhon set about preparing the second edition. While 11 of the 12 études were significantly revised and expanded, only the ninth étude, entitled ‘Progrès et Décadence’, was left almost unaltered. In July 1860, during the final revisions, Proudhon noted in a letter to Gustave Chaudey that the ninth étude was ‘one of the most difficult because of the very nature of the question addressed; nearly twenty pages were added or completely reworked’.6 In the event, the actual revisions were far less, but rather than add upwards of 100 pages as an appendix to this étude, as he decided to do for the others, he decided to write another book on the subject instead. The subject became something of an obsession and his writings on it were published as the two volumes of La Guerre et la Paix in 1861, the articles that became Fédération et l’Unité en Italie (1862), the extended treaties on constitutionalism, Si les traités de 1815 ont cessé d’exister (1863) and Contradictions Politiques, published posthumously in 1867, and finally the political theory and political economy of Du Principe Fédératif (1863) and De la Capacité Politique des Classes Oeuvrieres (1865). De la Justice is the primary intellectual source of all these later works and no analysis of them would be complete unless situated in the context of this impressive precursor. The textual key to this huge work is a relatively short supplementary section to the fourth etude, ‘l’État’, entitled ‘Petit Catéchisme Politique’.7 Like Comte’s Catechism of Positive Religion, Proudhon’s ‘Political Cate- chism’ is also set up in the form of a dialogue. However, unlike Comte’s, it is not set up as a paternalistic, sexist dialogue between ‘The Priest’ and ‘The Woman’, but is, rather, written in a simple ‘demand/réponse’, dialogic format. Like Comte’s work it also sets out his political philosophy in summary form, but unlike Comte’s work, it spends remarkably more time explicating his sociological theory of collective forces, something that 94 From providence to immanence is, by comparison, surprisingly under-theorised in Comte’s sociological writings. Paradoxically, however, despite being such an important text in both Proudhon’s oeuvre and the history of anarchism, De la Justice has attracted very little critical attention and what engagement there is concludes that Proudhon was a neo-Kantian. For example, Alan Gilbert, parroting Marx and Engels, argues that Proudhon had a transcendent theory of ‘eternal justice’, that he was therefore historically ill-informed, resulting in naïve political propositions.8 Anarchist readings follow a similar neo-Kantian reading and are equally scathing. Peter Marshall, for example, has argued that ‘Proudhon was a deontologist in that he believed intrinsic values are not means to an end, but ends in themselves’.9 Steven Vincent, who does not engage with De la Justice ‘in detail’,10 nevertheless argued that the moral ‘absolute’ was never far from Proudhon’s mind and that the search for ‘absolutes’ on which to ground politics little further, reinforcing this neo- Kantian interpretation.11 Others, like Robert Hoffman, read Proudhon as arguing that the ‘rules a man must live by must be entirely internal in origin, stemming from his rational faculties. In no other way will men act morally.’12 Like Kant, he argues, Proudhon also had an ‘essential optimism about human nature’.13 This was not even Kant’s position, let alone Proudhon’s. The most problematic of all is Alan Ritter’s, which compounds a reading of Proudhon as a neo-Kantian with a neo-Kantian analytical methodology. Not only are we told that Proudhon’s thought revolved around the deonto- logical pole star of ‘respect’, but that we can use this key principle to assess the deductive, internal coherence of Proudhon’s entire oeuvre, without any recourse to context or an investigation of Proudhon’s intentions. Ritter concludes that ‘[j]udged by its own pretensions, Proudhon’s theory of morals is a failure’.14 The question is whether this neo-Kantian reading of Proud- hon is accurate and whether it assists in our understanding of his writings on war and peace, or not? The answer to that is a categorical no. Ritter, like most of the extant English-language writers on the subject, downplays and largely ignores the literature linking Proudhon’s ideas to Comte and the cor- respondingly large body of writing that demonstrates his legacy in main- stream and critical French sociology. So, for example, Ritter argued that, In his [Proudhon’s] published writings, and even in his letters, socio- logical propositions are rare and incomplete. We are told repeatedly that ‘the stimulus of society’ affects men’s behaviour and ideas, but learn little about the scope and limits of this stimulus, or why and how it occurs. The hints of a theory of social psychology in Proudhon’s published work whet our curiosity without satisfying it.15 This reading explicitly contradicts the work of Sophie Chambost, Pierre Haubtmann, Pierre Ansart, Constance Hall, George Gurvitch, Celestin  From providence to immanence 95 Bouglé and Raymond Aron.16 Each of these authors demonstrates in some detail the depth of Proudhon’s sociological theory, drawing connections between Proudhon and Comte, Rousseau, Montesquieu and Michelet. It is also clear from Ansart’s work that Proudhon’s subsequent influence on French sociology is without question. Gurvitch, Aron and Bouglé were all professors of sociology at the Sorbonne; Gurvitch and Bouglé published important books on Proudhon’s thought, and, as Humphreys has shown, the influence of Proudhon in the Sorbonne helps explain the distinctly non- orthodox socialism of its faculty and French socialist sociology in the twentieth century.17 Given this historiographical malaise, the secondary aim of this chapter is to allow us to jettison this standard Anglophone, neo- Kantian interpretation of Proudhon’s thought. The chapter begins with a discussion of Proudhon’s understanding of the purpose of philosophy, to set him alongside Kant. I then show how he breaks with Kant and how he veers over to a Comtean understanding of positivism and the importance of a relational ontology. I then discuss how Proudhon breaks with Comte by arguing that relations presume no final form. This ‘revolutionary ontology’ as he calls it can be squared with social order only if we see the centrality of force to order. Proudhon’s unique way of understanding force, its alienation, rationalisation and recovery forms the basis of the substance of the middle, most substantive part of this chapter. One might well wonder what justice has to do with any of this. The simple answer is that justice is emergent from, or immanent to, the indivi- dual and society, while the motor of this process is conflict and order relies on the ossification of norms of justice and relations of force. Understanding the relationship of force to justice is the main focus of the following chapter on war, but it is set out here as a preface to the two chapters to follow. I close my account of Proudhon’s social theory with a critical account of his sexism. I present an immanent critique of Proudhon’s sexism using the tools of analysis he himself set out, both to demonstrate their use-value and to explain Proudhon’s hypocrisy on the subject of gender inequality. Philosophy, ontology and immanence The normative aim of De la Justice is to empower its readers to think for themselves. As Proudhon states boldly on the opening page of De la Justice: ‘The people have until now done nothing but pay and pray: we believe that the time has come for them to PHILOSOPHISE.’18 Proudhon defines philosophy as ‘the Discovery of the reason of things’, discovering the basis of ‘common sense [ … ] the very conditions of knowledge’. Leaning on a typically neo-Kantian critical project, he asks, how is it that we know what we know? What must be the case in order that we know what we do? Philosophy, in this regard, ‘is not a science, but the preliminary to science’. But almost immediately, Proudhon sets himself somewhere between positi- vist empiricism and neo-Kantian rationalism: he argues that ‘Philosophy is 96 From providence to immanence all in the observation, internal and external: there is no exception to that rule’.19 On the one hand, man is not born with God-given ideas about the world, nor as the idealists pre-suppose, is the external ‘an expression of the mind’, such that ‘it would be enough to have the full possession of the Idea, innate in our soul, but more or less obscured, in order without further information, to possess the reason and grasp the very nature of the universe!’20 Rather, idealism leads to the primary fallacy, that the self is one, immutable, sovereign and necessary, that our minds are free and unencumbered by cause and effect. He goes on to say that the tendency to see all the basic forms (cause-effect, beautiful, ideal and so on) as categories that are given in the mind, is the basic fallacy of the metaphysician, and that true philosophy must resist the tendency to assert apriori knowl- edge, or risk undermining the philosophic project itself.21 Knowledge prior to experience, he argued, is impossible. Truth is approximated through a balancing of reason and observation rather than the prioritisation of one or the other.22 This is the basis of his theory of ‘ideo-realism’. From this first starting point, Proudhon adapts the sociology of Comte, who, he says, ‘made the relation the basis of his positivism, and has excluded metaphysics and theology in its name’.23 Being, Proudhon concurred, is con- stituted not by creation or through the unfurling of natural essences, but in and through social, rational and biological relations. All things being related to all other things, it is in the particular constellation of these relations that an essence is to be found. Ontology is thus relational and indeterminate, since all things emerge out of others and evolve (or decay) into new relations. The ‘thing in itself ’, the centre of so much of Proudhon’s early works on episte- mology, is an ontological fallacy. Only relations can constitute being. More- over, if all things are in a process of becoming, then their forms must be in a continual process of change. This process of change, of becoming, is precisely what Proudhon described as progress itself, rather than an approximation to a spurious end point, since nothing, by his analysis, has such a final form. Proudhon traces this logic through a number of the chapters, but of course not all of this discussion is relevant to our purposes. His discussion of relations in society, however, is. If society’s form is radically indetermi- nate, and there is no underlying telos to nature or history, then something other than God must be shaping it. Developing Comte’s sociological insights, Proudhon develops a theory of ‘la pouvoir sociale’, or social power, and underlying this is his theory of force. Force can be understood as either ‘pouvoir’, or a purposive power, or it can be understood as passively resis- tant through ‘inertia’.24 Social force can also be sub-divided into two further forces: ‘la force collectif ’ and ‘la raison collectif ’ (I will use the English translations henceforth). Collective force relates to the objective, material aspect of social power, and collective reason to the subjective, intellectual or symbolic face of social power. A quantity of social power is proportional to the internal ‘relational law’ of a given collective force or rationality, which is to say that collective force or reason is proportional to the coordination and  From providence to immanence 97 complexity of the internal relations that constitute the units and the wider relations in which the relations are sustained. These forces are also in a continual process of collapse and reformation – they have no transcendent essence. This is the same for both football teams and molecules – collapse and reformation is normal. So, the force of a football team is proportional to the internal constellation of its parts (i.e. the skills of individual players, their ability to play as a team, the strength of the coordination, the strength of the club and its management, the wider society in which it is located and so on, and so forth), as well as being relative to the league in which they play. The force of religion, a type of collective reason, is relative to the coordination and complexity of its dogma, to the demands of its intellectual/social context, and the personal identification of the devotees that make it up. But ideas and material forces are also related. Collective reason without a collective force would be impotent, and force without reason would be brutal. For as long as the parts are related, this confluence of forces and relations produces a reality which is more than the sum of its parts. So, for example, workers united in a workshop are superior to the sum of individual workers working separately within them, because ‘the product of these individuals grouped in such a group is vastly superior to the sum of their individual output, had they been working separately’.25 Correspondingly, ‘synthetic ideas’ arise from the confluence of opinion and the balancing and compro- mise of positions, and are ‘very different from, often even quite opposite to the conclusions of the individual ‘I’ [ … ]. And this conversion does not, as you will note, condemn individuality; it presupposes it.’26 ‘[C]ollective beings are just as real as individuals’,27 the former presupposing the latter and the latter unintelligible without the former: ‘the collective being is neither a phantom nor an abstraction, but an existence.’28 There is thus ‘a commutative relation between forces, and since this relation is itself also force, [it is also] a reality’.29 This commutation of relations, as I will show in chapter seven, is central to understanding Proudhon’s principle of mutualism. Since there is no directing centre to this social theory, and all relations are reciprocal in principle, a principle of justice built upon this understanding will be radically different to one which presupposed directionality, as in notions of providence and distributive justice, for example. But we are getting ahead of ourselves here. To return to the reality of social forces, Proudhon argued that, Just as we have seen that the combination of forces produces a qualit- atively superior result than their mere sum, conflicting opinions give birth to a qualitatively different and more powerful reason than the sum of all the singular reasons that produce it by their contradiction.30 Collective reason emerges from the commutative interactions of individuals and the norms these groups create shape those very same individuals in 98 From providence to immanence turn – likewise collective forces. For example, as Proudhon put it: ‘beyond the influence passed on by generations, the action of society on the indivi- dual is tremendous. As a result, man can never completely escape it, neither in his acts, nor in his feelings, or in the predispositions and potentialities of his nature.’31 While Constance Hall may have slightly overstated her case when she suggested that Proudhon was ‘one of the first social thinkers to attempt the primitive synthesis of these levels of social reality’, she would surely be right to claim that he was one of the first to develop the theory to the extent that he did.32 Unlike Comte, Proudhon denied that there was any transcendent outcome to this process. Rather, what shapes rational and material forces is purposive human action in context. But to say that something is ontologically foun- dationless does not imply that it is directionless or without telos, only that it has no given endpoint. In Comte’s analysis, the shape of the society anterior to the present structures the final social form. Comte presumed that the Positivist Religion was just such a social form, preordained in the structures of history. But while daffodils cannot grow from the bulbs of tulips, any more than Star Trek would have been a possible literary creation during the Renaissance, to say that something has a telos that is shaped and con- strained by the position of forces anterior to a particular event or process, does not imply that all future events are preordained or that the final form of a thing predetermines its evolution – as Comte would have us believe.33 For Proudhon, and this will become clearer, the sheer complexity and diversity of the relations that go to making up the myriad collective forces and rationalities that cohere and diverge to produce the status quo, ensure that the future is relatively open. So, how does all of this relate to justice and right? How do we get from a-directionality and agency to right? In the first étude of De la Justice, there is a key section entitled ‘The Realism of Justice: Transcendence and Immanence’.34 Here Proudhon makes a distinction between different conceptions of the source of justice in human affairs. Transcendence is analogous to the system of religious revelation or idealism, which is to say that for both modern philosophy and religious dogma, justice comes to us from elsewhere, it is ‘superhuman’ and needs a God or a superior secular rationality to confer legitimacy upon it. As Proudhon rather flippantly summarised: ‘Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Kant, Spinoza himself [ … ], all the eclectics, the spiritualists, the socialists, the pantheists, all the way to Auguste Comte, who, by denying God, cling to the great humanitarian Being, say nothing more than that.’35 By contrast, seeing justice as immanent to individuals and to society opens up the possibility that it is historically evolved and socially contextual, but also inextricably linked to some understanding of human nature, of individuality and responsible agency in a social context and of the values and norms that hold society together. These norms will change as our understanding in social context develops. If justice is immanent there can  From providence to immanence 99 only be socially and personally acceptable compromises to matters of right and wrong. Proudhon put it as follows: ‘We know how to distinguish between good and evil [ … but] we will never know the end of Law, because we will never cease to create new relations between us. We are born perfec- tible; we will never be perfect: perfection, immobility, would be death.’36 This concept of immanence is what Proudhon brings to this discussion, a concept we might equate with emergence, but which at this time had a distinctly religious undertone and object of attack. Proudhon argues that he who speaks ‘as a partisan of immanence [is] a true anarchist.’37 The system of the revolution ‘is that of IMMANENCE, or of the innateness of Justice in the conscience’.38 This appeal to the conscience should not be confused with neo-Kantian absolutism, since the social context is as important to Proudhon. What Proudhon recognises is that our conscience, while socially formed, is ours nonetheless. It is our conscience which compels us to act morally or question immorality. That this conscience is historically and socially formed, is immaterial since the exercise of the conscience is always historically and socially contextual. Thus, both society and the individual have intrinsic moral worth, but are in perpetual antinomic antagonism. In tracing this process of immanent justice in relation to the subject matter of the 12 études that make up De la Justice what Proudhon is doing is showing how the claims of the state and Church to embody some transcendent conception of justice are false. Proudhon’s account of non-domination begins, by contrast, with an indeterminate cosmology, an account of the dynamics of social order that presupposes no directionality – an anarchy. The ‘Moral Organ’ Proudhon’s social theory relies on a large dose of naturalism or vitalism, or, more colloquially, some conception of a biologically and socially structured human nature. This is most clearly stated, but often missed, in his discussion of ‘l’organe morale’.39 Kant, Proudhon argued, had failed in his task of establishing the principles of justice on the structure of reason alone. Kant, he pointed out, attempts to build morality, like geometry and logic, on an a priori conception, outside of any empiricism, but fails to do so. His funda- mental principle, the absolute commandment, or categorical imperative, of Justice, is an experiential fact, of which his metaphysics is unable to provide an interpretation.40 Proudhon cuts right to the heart of the Kantian edifice here. If reason is phenomenal and influenced by social forces, as Comte would have it, then this opens up the possibility of a science of psychology, something Kant abhorred. But even if Kant was wrong to see justice as reducible to 100 From providence to immanence ‘a relation declared by pure reason to be necessary to social order’,41 then, pace Comte too, it is no less ridiculous to see it as ‘a commandment imposed by a superior authority upon an inferior being’. However, if we deny revelation, authority, reason or science as the foundation for justice, then ‘upon what should the moral law and the political order be based?’42 Proudhon suggested that just as we often intuit the right thing, feel it as good and the reverse bad, and things generally smell bad when they are off, and better when they’re edible,43 our moral feeling comes from within us and is a faculty we share. We each have what Proudhon calls a ‘moral organ’. But what is this supposedly real, immanent Justice, which operates within us like a positive faculty, and how does it act? As we have observed regarding the exercise of free will, every function requires an organ: where is the organ of Justice? We talk about conscience; but conscience is a word, the name of a faculty whose content, we affirm, is Justice, and which we now want to show as having its own organ [ … ] just as nothing is produced from nothing, nothing functions with nothing; this axiom can be added to the others, and be named the PRINCIPLE of INSTRUMENTALITY: vision, hearing [ … etc] each have their organism [ … ], which is the brain; and within this brain each faculty of the mind has its own little apparatus, so how could it be that Justice, the sovereign faculty, would not have its organism, proportionate to the importance of its function?44 Like Comte, and before him the theory of the passions outlined by Fourier, and before them Rousseau, Proudhon believed that the whole body constitutes this moral organ. Our reason, our instinctive reactions to exter- nal stimuli and our capacity for empathy and loyalty and so on and so forth, each manifest in our bodies as a whole. For example, we can tell that it is not right to put someone’s hand in the fire because we can empathise. We feel cooperation to be right and we can see the benefits socially. In many respects, Proudhon’s ideas on these matters have been taken up again in contemporary primatology. The aim of many writers in this area is to see what in human action is innate and what nurtured through social life. Rather than reject one side or both of the nature/nurture dichotomy, like Proudhon they seek to investigate it relationally.45 For both Proudhon and Comte, biology had proven that morality was far more complex than the rationalists would have us believe. Contrary to Comte’s near elimination of the individual from his moral schema, and following Kant here, Proudhon argued that ‘the end of man is in himself ’.46 While the sovereignty of the will is a myth, positing each of us as a ‘moral organ’ at least signifies the inviolability of the individual and our innate mutual equivalence. But it is only in the group, Proudhon suggests, that such instincts as empathy or reciprocity and notions of virtue and vice can  From providence to immanence 101 have meaning. This does not negate the individual, as Comte would have it, but ‘presupposes it’. Thus, the moral dignity of each is the precondition of a social conception of justice. As Proudhon put it: Right for each individual is the faculty to demand from others that they respect the human dignity of his person; – duty is the obligation to respect this dignity in others. Essentially, right and duty are identical terms, since they are always the expression of demanded or due respect.47 Thus, morality has a distinctly corporeal element. Right is not an abstract principle, but something that is emergent from the relations between indivi- duals as embodied and autonomous agents that live within sociologically identifiable groups. Thus right is something that we develop for ourselves and is something that changes and develops with the variability of the individuals that go to make up various social groups. But because right is a social category, without a corresponding duty, one premised on this reciprocal notion of respect, it would have no corresponding counter-force against which it could be claimed. Rights without duty are not meaningless on a rational basis, but rather make no sense without a sociological con- ception of the forces against which rights are claimed. The antinomy Rights and duties are but one antinomic dichotomy. Proudhon elevates this conception of the antinomy to a principle underpinning immanent justice itself. As I discussed in the previous chapter, Kant argued that the antinomies of pure reason provide the spur for speculative reasoning rather than have any ontological reality. Proudhon disagreed. In a letter to his friend Joseph Tissot, Kant’s principal French translator at that time, Proudhon stated that ‘[i]n reading Kant’s antinomies, I saw in them, not a proof of the weakness of our reason, nor an example of dialectical subtlety, but a veritable law of nature and of thought’.48 In his early works this ‘law of nature and of thought’ is rather confusing. Proudhon’s first statement of his theory comes in the Système des Contradictions Économiques, where he failed to articulate what exactly the synthesis of the antinomies com- prised of and was subsequently ridiculed by Marx for vacillating between a Kantian and a Hegelian formulation of the dialectic. However, in De la Justice Proudhon corrects his earlier position by arguing that, THE ANTINOMY CANNOT BE RESOLVED; this is the funda- mental flaw of the entire Hegelian philosophy. The two terms compos- ing the antinomy BALANCE either against each other, or against other antinomic terms: which leads to the desired result. A balance is not a synthesis in the way Hegel understood it and as I had supposed 102 From providence to immanence like him. Apart from this reservation that I make for the sake of pure logic, I stand behind everything I said in Contradictions.49 From Proudhon’s neo-Kantian perspective then, the two poles of the anti- nomy are held in an antagonistic balance, right and duty, cause and effect, good and evil, infinity and finitude, and so on. Having some sense of cause implies a sense of effect, good of evil, infinity of finitude, and so on. For Proudhon the exercise of practical reason involves finding a temporary balance of the two terms in ideas and practice, a balance that will be relative to time and place. Thus right and duty are correlative, commutative terms and their temporary balance is an immanent justice. Proudhon also sees this principle of balancing replicated in mathematics where equations must balance; in law where rights and duties must be balanced; in political economy where balance sheets are de rigueur, and almost anywhere else one would care to look. This approach suggested a method to Proudhon, a method he would use to trace the history of the emergence of the principles and practices of justice in historical context. As I will show in the following chapter, the antinomy between war and peace was central to Proudhon’s understanding of history. Proudhon argues that sometimes antonomic terms will balance against other antinomic terms. This demands a sociological conception of justice. For example, the antinomy between good and evil might have to be balanced against and relate to the antinomy between necessity and freedom, such that what we decide to be evil will also need to be balanced against our conceptions of freedom. Again, right, by this analysis, is not transcendent but immanent to relations of collective force and reason. To claim otherwise is, by this analysis, to assume some transcendent principle against which all claims to right can be determined or to assume the opposite which is that no such grounds can be found at all. Proudhon’s position asks us to understand the importance of social forms and of individual conceptions of justice as being related and absolutely crucial not only to analysis but also to right as such. As a good Kantian, Proudhon argues that individuals are ends in themselves, but as a good socialist, he also believed all social groups to be equally sacrosanct – another antinomy. Proudhon argued that it is therefore, ‘your first law [ … ] to guard your soul and to never genuflect before any divinity, neither of heaven nor of earth, nor of hell’.50 Unsurprisingly perhaps, Proudhon developed his own account of the state of nature to illustrate this. As he put it: According to this theory, man, although stemming from complete savagery, continually produces society through the spontaneous devel- opment of his nature. It is only in an abstract sense that he can be considered in a state of isolation and subject to egoism as his sole law. His consciousness is not twofold, as transcendentalists teach us; it is not divided between animality on one hand and God on the other; it  From providence to immanence 103 is only polarized. Being an integral part of a collective existence, man feels his dignity at the same time within himself and within others, and thus bears in his heart the principle of a morality higher than himself as an individual. And this principle is not received from elsewhere; it is intimate, immanent. It constitutes his essence, the essence of society itself.51 Finally, just as the individual moral organ is a composite relation between antinomic forces (instinct and reason), so too, social groups are moral beings that have moral worth precisely because they are the cradles of individuality. Insofar as humans carry within them the seeds of a code of justice, so too do the groups which nurture this impulse and shape it. Where Rousseau, Kant and Comte had identified only one corporate body, the sovereign state, Proudhon pointed to an infinite plurality of groups with collective reason and their own collective force. Proudhon defined these ‘natural groups’ as any collectives that ‘willy-nilly impose upon themselves some conditions of solidarity … which soon constitutes itself into a city or a political organism, affirms itself in its unity, its independence, its life or its own movement (autokinesis), and its autonomy’.52 The denial of these groups, their elision through the pernicious doctrines of individualism and Jacobin collectivism, of universal suffrage or class politics, was central to affirming the primacy of the state or a transcendent class. This process of the elision of the plurality of social life was reliant upon alienation and it is the alienation of group and individual agency to the state that is the primary cause of modern social disequilibrium. It is to this theory that I now turn. The alienation and recovery of collective force There are two aspects to Proudhon’s theory of alienation, the political and economic, and both are related to the historical processes of alienation that have their roots in religious mythology. In The Philosophy of Progress (1853), Proudhon argued the following: following the notions of movement, progress, series and group, of which ontology is compelled from now on to take account, and the various findings that economics and history furnish on the question, I regard society, the human group, as a being sui generis, constituted by the fluid relations and economic solidarity of all the individuals, of the nation, of the locality or corporation, or of the entire species; which individuals circulate freely among one another, approaching one another, joining together, dispersing in turn in all directions; a being which has its own functions, alien to our individuality, its own ideas which it communicates to us, its judgments which do not at all resemble ours, its will in diametrical opposition with our instincts, its life, which 104 From providence to immanence is not that of the animal or the plant, although it finds analogies there; – a being, finally, who, starting from nature, seems the God of nature, the powers and laws of which it expresses to a superior (supernatural) degree.53 While it is clear here that Proudhon had been engaging with questions of ontology throughout the 1850s, it is the final sentence which provides us with the hook with which to discuss questions of alienation and the recovery of collective force. In brief, humans had hitherto fetishised their own force by giving it a life of its own, anthropomorphising their own collective power and calling it God or the state. This collective force and collective reason is then exploited by those who could best manipulate the symbolism of collective reason in order to rationalise collective force in their own interests. Thus religion was a way of rationalising natural pro- cesses like the seasons and the cycle of life and death, but in a way that legitimised particular collective forces. As scientific knowledge of the political and economic structures of society developed and the religious myths began to lose their force, the new constellations of collective force that emerged to take the place of religious hierarchies were legitimised in new ways. Proudhon adapted Comte’s ‘three stages’ thesis to illustrate how this had come about. In the theological era, religion was the collective reason that gave meaning and shape to the plural hierarchies within humanity, between humanity and God, and how all of this related in nature. Following both Comte and Feuerbach, Proudhon argued that past societies rationalised nature as a collective force beyond the control of any one individual. The forces of nature were personified and the fates of communities thought to be at the whim of the gods. In this sense, humans unknowingly worshiped themselves in the divine, which made it all the more simple to rationalise a Divine Right to Rule, for example. The power of kings was seemingly a force of nature embodied. Kings shaped and constrained the life-chances of individuals and communities, and this activity was rationalised by priests to be in accordance with God’s plan on earth. In the metaphysical age, these religious rationalisations were criticised and superseded by the doctrines of ‘popular sovereignty’, which substit- uted the divine for the temporal, or one set of dominators for another. Here the force of the Supreme Being or the General Will was deified, while the individual was erased. Secular theodicies came to replace the theological with the place of constitutional monarchs, legislators and High Priests re-rationalised to act as the conduit for the will of the people, guiding them to providence. Metaphysics substitutes for theology, but the alienation demanded is equally pernicious. In the scientific era, positive conceptions substitute for the quasi-theolo- gical. Crucially, political economy substitutes for metaphysics. The aim here was to explain social order and social transformation by reference to  From providence to immanence 105 the labouring of the masses. Socialists, like Comte, having identified the labouring masses as a real social group, attempted to show that the purpo- seful activity of people was the key force in history and society. This discussion will be developed considerably in chapter seven, but a few words are necessary here to preface the discussion of the causes of war in the fol- lowing chapter. Proudhon argued that it was possible to alienate our collective force as well as collective reason. Adapting the labour theory of value, Proudhon argued that collective labour produced a surplus that was irreducible to each labourer working individually at the same task. It is this surplus labour that the lord or capitalist expropriates, by force in primitive societies and by law in modern societies. In capitalist societies, the proprietor claims title in land and its product and remunerates the labourers individually at a rate less than the true value of their collective labour. This property regime is the key source of ruptures in the social equilibrium because the means for the workers to subsist are funnelled to the proprietors who, by not producing, become richer at the expense of the workers. As the worker’s conditions deteriorate and as the economic contradiction in society deepens, workers cohere around their respective groups and conflict, that was hitherto subterranean, breaks out into the open. As Proudhon put it: ‘every nation in which the economic balance is violated, the forces of production constituted in monopoly, and public power left to the discretion of the exploiters, is, ipso facto, a nation at war with the rest of mankind.’54 Liberal property relations are rationalised by the bourgeoisie in much the same way as were previous systems of iniquity by the then prevailing class. They are described as necessary, natural or inevitable, historically providential or immutable. They are nothing of the sort, of course. These absolutisms, of either property or state, are to be resisted, but the alienation at their heart is the common problem. Dominant groups are parasitic on the workers and citizens and collective force is expropriated unsustainably by willing political and economic alienation of individual and collective force. As the conditions of the citizen-workers deteriorates, collective reason must be manipulated to legit- imise the inequality and resulting hardships. If these inequalities cannot be legitimised, either due to the advances of science undermining the key claims or through the extreme social conditions overriding any legitimisation, conflict between society’s constituent groups is exacerbated. This is why times of acute material crisis are also times of acute intellec- tual crisis. From this perspective the notion of collective force, ‘which transforms the face of ontology’,55 becomes a ‘revolutionary ontology’.56 Not only does it help us see the functional differentiation of society and the plurality of its cleavages, but by showing how these groups relate economically, Proudhon believed he had tapped into a principle of history. The recovery of alienated powers demands first a theory that can identify where that alienation is 106 From providence to immanence taking place, but then also a political philosophy that can justify that reclamation. Socialism was that general theory. In Theorie de la Propriété, his final summary statement of his life’s thinking on the subject, he put it like this: This understood, we will notice that the general laws of history are the same as those of the social organization. To write the history of a people’s relations with property is to say how it survived the crises of its political formation, how it produced its powers, its bodies, balanced its forces, regulated its interests, equipped its citizens; how it lived, how it died. Property is the most fundamental principle with which one can explain the revolutions of history [ … ] no nation has surpassed this institution; but it positively governs his- tory [ … ] and it forces nations to recognize it, punishing them if they betray it.57 The systems of collective reason that have sprung up to rationalise and moralise these processes are vital clues to how society has responded to imbalances in the economic equilibrium (a concept central to the following chapter) over time, how they have justified inequality, war, conflict, peace, power and so forth. Moral philosophy is, as Comte would have it, a branch of sociology. As Proudhon argued, ‘the moralist has only one goal, that is to penetrate the reason of customs and institutions’.58 In his view the key to social order is to reorganise the economic equilibrium in society accord- ing to the immanent principle of justice. An immanent critique of Proudhon’s sexism Perhaps the most important discussion of ‘the moral organ’, and the most egregious example of the absence of consistency in Proudhon’s theory of the antinomies, is to be found in the second book of ‘Amour et Marriage’, the 11th étude of De la Justice. Given Proudhon’s well-known sexism, the fact that it is here that he discusses the source of morality may explain why so few have understood the centrality of Proudhon’s sexual politics to his theory of justice. There are also three further reasons for taking this discussion of Proudhon’s theory of justice into the area of sexual politics. The first is that with a full understanding of Proudhon’s theory of justice we can deepen, explain or clarify misunderstandings of it. Second, by linking the discussion of justice to the concepts of love, marriage and the family we can better account for Proudhon’s anti-feminism and subject it to a better immanent critique (using Proudhon’s own concepts against his theory). And third, while it may come as a surprise, it is here, in his discussion of love and marriage, that we see the first articulations of Proudhon’s theory of the ‘right of force’, the key concept that drives his theory of international right, to be discussed in the following chapter. In the  From providence to immanence 107 first additional note to this étude, penned for the second edition of De la Justice, Proudhon writes that: In a forthcoming book, we will expose the theory of this right [of force], its forms, its applications, and its abuses. This theory sheds an unex- pected light upon the history of the formation and the development of states, which has implications for the constitution of marriage and family, as yet as little understood as that of the state.59 Anthony Copley is one of the few to have investigated this aspect of Proudhon’s writings in any detail.60 Copley argues that Proudhon’s sexual politics are not an afterthought to his moral philosophy, irreconcilable with his broader thinking. In fact, Proudhon’s sexual politics are absolutely vital to our comprehension of his political philosophy as a whole. Androcentrism does not automatically disqualify Proudhon as a thinker, nor does his euro- centrism, his anti-Semintism, his hatred of the bourgeoisie, of capitalists and so forth. The key is to be able to account for the work each position does in his theory and explain their inevitable weaknesses. If Proudhon’s biases can be corrected using his own theory, so much the better.61 Proudhon argued that the first and most important locus of collective force is the family. It is the primordial unit of society and the father is, for him, the natural leader and the first to appropriate social ‘puissance’, the alienated capacity of the family unit.62 Proudhon understood patriarchy in pre-republican societies as a ‘law of nature’, where ‘the greater force absorbs and assimilates smaller forces, and power in the domestic realm entitles one to power in the political realm: therefore competition for the crown exists only among the strong’.63 Problematically, while in republican societies political agency is and should always be divided and constrained, Proudhon believed that in republican society the family remains sui generis. In Proudhon’s view men remain rightfully the head of the family, but this primordial appropriation is nevertheless unjustified where it is not balanced by other familial virtues such as love, respect, care and so on.64 Moreover, and just as problematically, Proudhon was quite clear that the increased relative strength of males over females not only implied their right to dom- inate in the family, but also legitimised their public predominance over women. Proudhon argued that that gender equalisation takes place through the balancing of the antinomic poles of masculinity and femininity in the contract of marriage, which has its social equivalent in the distinction between the public and domestic realm. For Proudhon marriage is the lynchpin of the social fabric (and of his theory of justice) because it stipu- lates and consecrates, by commutative contract, equilibrium between the sexes within a family unit. But strangely, in the case of gender relations, this equilibrium is not obviously immanent and open to change, since Proudhon stipulated that women will always be physically inferior to men thus giving permanence to sexual relations which he denies everywhere else. 108 From providence to immanence Marriage therefore makes up for ‘natural’ inequality. Jenny D’Héricourt, the France-Comtois feminist and contemporary of Proudhon, provided an instructive critique of this position. As she put it: You wish to subordinate women because in general they have less muscular force than you; but at this rate the weak men ought not to be the equals of the strong, and you combat this consequence yourself in your first ‘Memoir on Property’ where you say: ‘Social equilibrium is the equalization of the strong and the weak.’65 D’Hérricourt’s position is instructive, because it highlights an analytical error in Proudhon’s theory (the weakest man must be stronger than the strongest woman for his theory to hold). But Proudhon simply ignored this. For Proudhon marriage is emancipatory for men in that it releases them from domestic drudgery and allows them to pursue their civic roles. Women, on the other hand, have men to protect and support them and release them from the social stigma of solitude. As Copley suggests, it is through this androgynous unity, ‘the couple’, ‘which justice would evolve’.66 This was not the effacement of gender in Proudhon’s thinking, since differ- ence is the prerequisite of the union, but a new and irreducible unity in which the fixed antinomic traits of men and women are balanced. There is little question that this position is deeply sexist and runs contrary to Proudhon’s wider social theory of justice. So what accounts for this? Close readings of Proudhon’s work on love and marriage, particularly within the context of his peasant background, suggest that emancipated female sexuality ‘frightened’ him, not only because the full expression of sexuality and licentiousness was too much for him, but also because of the damage he thought it would wreak on the family.67 He had solid historical grounds for this assumption. The Fourierists and Saint Simonians had spent the Restoration years advocating free love and the dissolution of the family, arguing that bourgeois marriage was legal concubinage. During this period prostitution was normalised and many feared that emancipated women would simply turn to prostitution since, these social critics believed, women had no other opportunities. But as D’Héricourt and the Saint Simonians suggested, bourgeois marriage was itself a form of prostitution when women were given no rights at all, and within marriage were legally male property, with no other rights than those that inhered in the selling of their bodies to their husbands.68 Copley has argued that ‘Proudhon was as much at war with the French tradition of male sexual dalliance as with the feminist quest for sexual emancipation’.69 The problem for Proudhon was that the feminist cure to the problem of gender inequality may have been worse than the disease. Proudhon was well aware that it was women who paid the price for male promiscuity in nineteenth-century France, and that the Church was also all too willing to exploit rejected women and the social and moral conflict  From providence to immanence 109 widespread prostitution created, for their own ends. An idealised image of marriage was an understandable corrective in this regard. But more proble- matic still are the scientific grounds Proudhon clung to in order to defend this position. Proudhon also believed that women were mere receptacles for male semen and thus lacking, in addition to physical strength, any auto- nomous role in sexual relations. Copely has argued that, It was misunderstandings such as these that led Proudhon into that absurdity of enumerating male superiority over female by a factor of twenty-seven to eight. From the male seed, he claimed, women derived ideas, conscience, even consciousness: such dependency was his expla- nation for female inequality [ … ]. Such mistaken theories led Proudhon to see in marriage the only hope for women.70 But Proudhon did not misunderstand these issues. As Haubtmann has shown, he wilfully ignored the scientific evidence in his possession, not least the scientific writings of Jenny d’Hérricourt, a doctor and pioneer in women’s reproductive health.71 Clearly it was prejudice that drove his theory here, rather than vice versa and in the climate of Second Empire France, he was not widely disputed. He thereby alienated himself from one of the most progressive social movements of nineteenth-century France: feminism. If we investigate this problem using the categories of Proudhon’s theory of justice an interesting picture emerges. Proudhon’s individual conscience was the product of his peasant upbringing and it was the clash between this and the social context of Second Empire France that helps us understand his position. In the peasant family, as Martine Segalen has shown, women had asymmetric equality based on their predominance in domestic life, their care of children, the garden and food.72 Segalen shows that men played the role of authority figure in the family and had a public role in village life. Crucially, on the whole peasant families were property-less and so the social relations were exponentially more equal. Proudhon’s petit bourgeois family background is significant, but not for the reasons the Marxists have claimed. The peasant domestic division of labour was more or less mirrored in Proudhon’s own family where his mother, from a peasant background herself, was the dominant force in his own parents’ relationship.73 By contrast, Proudhon’s father’s lack of business acumen and his inability to manage the family fortunes in the emerging profit-driven economy put the family in economic difficulty in their public affairs, and this was a source of deep embarrassment and confusion to the young Pierre-Joseph. A harking back to peasant gender relations, as well as peasant property relations, is hardly a surprise in this context. Moreover, Copley suggests that Proudhon’s stern moralism is a reaction to his father’s misplaced ideal- ism, and also argues that his (perhaps oedipal) love for his mother may account for Guérin’s assertion that Proudhon was a repressed homosexual.74 110 From providence to immanence Whatever the final cause, we are surely right to agree with d’Hérricourt who argued that ‘You have naively mistaken the scalpel of your imagination for that of science’.75 The fact that his anti-feminist diatribe La Pornocratie, ou les femmes dans les temps modèrnes was never published during his lifetime suggests that he was never comfortable with his ideas and conclusions on this matter. His sexism contradicts his political philosophy and undermined his integrity, but it nevertheless helps us better understand his ideas as a whole. Conclusion: justice as immanent equilibrium The aim of this chapter has been to set out the primary distinctions between Proudhon, Comte and Kant (and Rousseau to a lesser extent) on the primary building blocks of their respective social theories. If what char- acterised Comte and Kant’s theories of right was a discourse of providence and a transcendental telos to history, one might summarise Proudhon’s social theory of justice as one of immanent equilibrium. At the heart of his social ontology were two concepts, collective force and collective reason, and his epistemology he described as ‘ideo-realist’, taking ideas and material forces to be equally real. Society was also radically pluralist in his view. In much the same way as there are an infinite plurality of individuals, the emergent product of their biological form and social context, so too groups sprang up wherever and whenever individuals coalesced and took shapes structured by context and agency. From this relational perspective outlined by Proudhon, justice and history could have no transcendent telos or form, because the emergence and decline of groups could not exhibit any transcendent directionality. Trying to order this anarchy in the interests of any given group was likely to fail. In Proudhon’s view, ‘society is ungovernable; it obeys nothing but Justice under the threat of death’.76 Neo-Kantian, Jacobin and Positivist republicanism was, by this analysis, utopian. The attempt to close history down, to present the state as the culmination of history, the means through which perfection might be realised, was pure ‘fantasy theory’.77 The rela- tional, sociological ontology at the heart of Proudhon’s analysis suggested to him that statism was contrary to the openness of the cosmos. Progress, by Proudhon’s analysis, was the development of systems that secured social processes the widest possible freedoms. Only by so doing could the complex social relations that made up society be self-directed. If society has no centre, its circumference being ‘everywhere’; if history had no transcendent telos and relations of force were at the heart of social order; if rationalisations of justice followed and legitimised transfor- mations in these relations of force; then there are no transcendent orders at all. Anarchy is at the heart of history and society. The problem is how to rationalise that anarchy. One might argue that Proudhon simply stated the problem to which his contemporaries replied that statehood was the best  From providence to immanence 111 solution to the problem of anarchy. But Proudhon’s social theory did not permit of any final solutions. If the mark of the modern philosopher was to resolve the problem of anarchy with statehood, sovereignty and conceptions of transcendent orders, for Proudhon anarchism was more appropriate. Anarchy is order and justice is immanent equilibrium in anarchy. In many respects, Proudhon’s De la Justice provides an interesting account of how things are ordered, of ‘statics’ in the Comtean schema, but not of how they change or ‘social dynamics’. This was the purpose of his writings on war and peace, which develops the themes set out in summary form here. The questions that remain to be asked of Proudhon’s writings from a social theory perspective are, inter alia: how does change occur? How does order become constituted within social relations, or how do social relations break down? What are the main motors of change? How does society change from one form of collective reason to another? How or why do collective forces change their internal make-up, become abandoned or championed? How should it be in the future? What about the foundations of law? These questions and many others drove Proudhon’s analysis of international relations. 6 The historical sociology of war Order and justice in Proudhon’s La Guerre et la Paix My intention in this book is to set out Proudhon’s writings on war and peace within the social and intellectual context of his time, and second, to use those ideas and that contextualisation to help contemporary inter- national and political theorists rethink the concept of anarchy. Thus far I have argued that standard conceptions of anarchy in IR have ossified around largely conservative, nineteenth-century understandings of the term and that critiques have tended to fall into the trap that also entangled nineteenth-century republicanism. For these writers the solution to the assumed problem of anarchy is framed as the institutionalisation of state-like bodies at the international or trans-planetary level. The aim to this point has been to set out the origins of this way of thinking about world politics and begin to show how an alternative might be constructed. In the previous chapter I set out Proudhon’s social theory. My aim was to show that in order to rethink republicanism, order and anarchy Proudhon had first to ‘demonarchize the cosmos’. The reason for this was that the three standard forms of republicanism, Jacobin, liberal and positivist each shared a providentialist teleology. Proudhon’s defence of anarchy by contrast, was premised on an account of social order that was complex and anti-foundational. Anarchy, for Proudhon, was a cosmological fact and a more sensible foundation for a normative theory of politics. This chapter sets out in more detail how history is without transcendent telos and war is, like it was for Rousseau, Kant and Comte, Proudhon’s focus too. Proudhon defends the argument that if we desire to see how systems of morality have risen and fallen through history, how societies have come to adopt and abandon moral norms and why individuals hold fast to ethical systems, then the analysis of war is illuminating. While, as I have shown, the relationship of war to systems of social order and right were also central to the ideas of Comte and Kant, Proudhon’s account goes so much further. La Guerre et la Paix is the first extant historical sociology of war. It traces how institutions such as the state and religion have been cemented and sustained by force and through social conflict. It looks forward to ask how the end of pre-industrial warfare and the progressive industrialisation  The historical sociology of war 113 and ‘militarism’ (a term he coined)1 of war and society was shaping the macro systems of justice that structured European international relations. It is also an explicitly moral-phenomenological account of war – again, the first of its kind – positing that ideas are real, guiding social agency and structuring the conduct of war. La Guerre et la Paix is also a socialist account of the causes of war, looking to political economy to explain the outbreak of war. Spanning almost 500 pages, these two volumes are a lost gem in the history of international thought. It is worth noting that none of Proudhon’s generation combined these subjects in this way, preferring, like Adolphe Thiers or Louis Blanc, for example, to write multi-volume, self-valorising histories of the Napoleonic wars and eulogies to the rightful place of France at the forefront of European history. Proudhon’s anarchism marks La Guerre et la Paix out as one of the few histories of warfare neither in the service of the state nor with the objective of securing the patronage or control of the state. This perhaps also explains its absence in the canon of IR theory and the history of political thought.2 Another likely explanation for the relative elision of war and peace in the writings of nineteenth-century socialist republicans can be explained by their geographical location. In the wake of Louis Napoleon’s coup d’état in 1851, many of Proudhon’s fellow revolutionaries, like the communist Louis Blanc, for example, fled to London. The London exiles preoccupied themselves with the industrial revolution in England, the class cleavages this exacerbated and the shape of the emerging capitalist order there. Proudhon, on the other hand, fled to Belgium. The geopolitical significance of Belgium may well have been a contributing factor to his turn to international relations. Between October and the end of November 1859, the exiled Proudhon family was struck down by scarlet fever. Pierre-Joseph was suddenly (and for the first time) the nurse, mother and father to the entire family. Tragically, on the 25th of November, Proudhon and Euphraise’s daughter, Stéphanie, died from her illness. Six months later, Proudhon’s brother also died in abject poverty. Some commentators have suggested that this personal tragedy and its wider context imparted the pessimism and bellicosity of La Guerre et la Paix. But this tendency to use the context to explain away the difficult aspects of the work does little justice to Proudhon’s own intentions. In his mind, La Guerre et la Paix was entirely devoted to the intellectual task he set himself. As the subtitle makes clear, this is to understand the principle and the constitution of the rights of nations (du droit des gens), through an analysis of the role of war in history. As he remarked to Hetzel in January 1861, ‘[m]y ambition has been to present this work in the classical style: it is a treatise on the principles of the rights of peoples destined to consign all that has been written since Grotius and Vattel to the attic’.3 It clearly failed in this task, but that said, it is undoubtedly his most scholarly work, relatively short, well edited and thus his most systematic and focused. It was published on the 22nd of May 1861 114 The historical sociology of war and was met with near-universal disbelief and criticism. ‘NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!’ he cried in letters to friends.4 La Guerre et la Paix is the least well understood and polarising of Proudhon’s works. Reviews range from the casually dismissive to the down- right hostile, to those who, like Hervé Trinquer, have argued that it is ‘without any doubt, one of the most important works of sociology ever published’.5 E. H. Carr saw it as a ‘panegyric to war’, typical of French republican chauvinism and to be dismissed as such.6 Proudhon’s friend, Charles Beslay, who ten years later would become president of the ill-fated Paris Commune, also dismissed the work as a militaristic glorification of war and not in keeping with the new emerging republican anti-militarism of the Second Empire.7 The newspaper Nord reprinted the preface to La Guerre et la Paix with a reminder that France had been beaten by the Austrians at Solferino and that France’s national glory, or the glory of any military, was not, therefore, to be praised.8 Peter Marshall argued that the juxtaposition of the glorification of war with the claim that it will become redundant in the future ‘bears witness to the paradoxical nature of Proudhon’s mind’.9 Few have given this work the extended treatment it deserves; none have done so in the English language. This chapter sets out Proudhon’s argument in detail and my analysis is of course informed by the contextual work undertaken to this point. The structure of the narrative generally follows the structure of Proudhon’s work and I deviate to make links to wider debates and to flesh out key propositions. Part one looks at what Proudhon called ‘the moral phenom- enology of war’; part two discusses Proudhon’s theory of ‘the right of force’; part three turns to the material reality of war; part four, the causes of war; and the final part turns to the emerging transformation of war. As I will show, this final book of La Guerre et la Paix is disappointing in more ways than one. But as Nicolas Bourgeois has argued, while the problem is bravely posed in La Guerre et la Paix, we must look elsewhere for the ‘true Proudhonian solution’.10 This is what I do in the following, final chapter, where the last works of Proudhon’s oeuvre are discussed and where his normative political economy, his anarchism and theory of federalism are most fully worked out. The significance of all of this for how we understand contemporary world politics is picked up again in the conclusion. The moral phenomenology of war Proudhon begins La Guerre et la Paix by setting out a phenomenological approach to war. Phenomenology has a long and complex history in modern philosophy,11 but Proudhon’s use of the term is straight-forwardly derived from his reading of Kant and Comte. That he takes this discussion in ways that both would have found antithetical to their projects is by the by. Recall that for Kant, only phenomena are objects of possible sensual experience.  The historical sociology of war 115 However, it was only the faculty of cognition that could give meaning to sensual experience. Thus, without the noumena, phenomena would be inex- plicable. The ontological status of the noumena was questioned by Comte, as it was by Proudhon. The question arose as to whether it was possible to bracket cognition and reason from the phenomenal world. Both Comte and Proudhon argued not. As such, our ways of rationalising were themselves phenomenal features of social life, which is to say themselves structured internally by the biological form of the human organism and externally by the structures of its environmental and social context. The phenomenology of war, therefore, is not only what we see, the bombs, canon, cavalry or killing, but also the internal rationalisations of war, the eulogies, heorism and tragedies it has inspired. Where strategy is the subject of war’s most ‘diligent students’,12 none, Proudhon argues, have sought to investigate ‘the moral phenomenology of war’, its rendering in biblical mythology, the historic and contemporary moral principles that shape and guide warriors and sanction atrocities, the features of its practice that have inspired the poets, and the force of the legal principles that nations observe in the midst of the most violent cataclysms. On the one hand then, Proudhon is looking to develop a systematic investigation of the moral norms that shape social action, or sociology of war as we now know it. But on the other hand, Proudhon remained deeply Kantian. The evidence for this latter point is striking. In a personal letter congratulating him on the publication of La Guerre et la Paix, Proudhon’s friend Joseph Langlois compared Proudhon to Copernicus and Galileo for having found, in war, the principle of social movement. Proudhon was obviously grateful, but nevertheless felt it necessary to correct the impression that he had set out to ruin Kant’s theories and reputation in order to assert his own. You are not being fair with Kant. I am making fun of his gothic books and their too frequently unintelligible form. But to me, it does not seem possible to deny him the greatest glory that a philosopher deserves, solely because of the way he framed the religious and philosophical problem. Consider that, ultimately, it is to Kant that we owe the honor of having reduced the absolute to its fair value. Kant taught us not to ask: What is God? For example, but how do we believe in God? Descartes did not go that far. On the contrary, it is he who posed [ … ] the specific reality of a spiritual world [ … ]. Let us not talk badly about Kant, my dear friend, or we will fall back into mysticism and turning tables. The penultimate sentence is the key here. Proudhon takes from Kant the possibility that the internalisation of moral codes makes them real and causal but also intimately personal and probably absolutist in character. The flaw of idealism was to confuse the ego with the ultimate source of truth, to de-link the individual from social context and thereby over-play the 116 The historical sociology of war autonomy of reason. Clearly, as Kant would argue, we cannot conceptualise the justice of war if we have not the freedom of will and cognition to do so. But war, for Kant was an aberration, the manifestation of anarchy, all that was wrong with human social existence and it could therefore tell us nothing about morality. Proudhon disagreed. As he discusses at great length, the symbols and signs of war cannot be so many ephemera, no sooner noticed than dismissed in favour of a stern and cynical focus on its brute materiality, or faith in its historically providential role. As Comte had discussed, war had a crucial material role in the evolution of society, but he too ignored the fact that war had satu- rated the moral and juridical symbolism of modern society. The materialist’s focus on war’s emerging industrial brutality meant that it became almost impossible to account for why war animated so much that society had cherished so dearly. For Proudhon, unlike Kant, for example, war and peace were not eternal categories, still less juridical ones – as Rousseau would have it.13 The meaning of war and peace had changed over time, while the relational form between the two remained antinomic.14 What war and right are, how we have defined good and evil and how we have rationalised punishment and guilt, are all historically specific. For example, the infusion of class war rhetoric with the symbolism of militarism was symptomatic of a wider change in social conflict more generally from the early nineteenth century onwards. The decline of martialist language in the justification of war itself also declined as a correspondingly utilitarian language of war devel- oped alongside the emergence of positivism. In short, the conduct and rationalisation of war and social conflict has also morphed over time. What concerned Proudhon was that the language of right did not reflect this sociological fact, seeing war as extra-judicial and conflict and the exercise of force as the preserve of states. Proudhon divides his analysis of the moral phenomenology of war between three historical stages, which again follow Comte in broad outline if not in content. His aim is to show how war and codes of right have developed together. In the first period, monotheism and polytheism gave rise to relatively distinct juridical codes. Warriors and religious leaders established the rituals of politics in various ways. Proudhon also noted that historically the most religious and most righteously juridical nations have also been the most war-like.15 Why, Proudhon asked, are so many gods warriors? Why is religious mythology and iconography so infused with martial metaphors if war was not such a profound shaping force in the moral conscience of the first societies? The biblical battle between heaven and hell is eternal, shaping our understanding of good and evil; the battles between the gods of ancient Greece shaped our moral imagination; interpretations of the battles raging between the elements gave birth to the Norse and innumerable other gods. Socio-cosmological justice was rendered through the stories we told one another about the battles won and lost.  The historical sociology of war 117 The rituals of religion and war were right-making because they reflected the posited eternal truths of the universe, they realised justice on earth by reflecting the battles in the heavens. As Proudhon points out, ‘[t]he same conscience that produces religion and justice also produces war; the same fervour, the same spontaneity of enthusiasm that animates prophets and justice-seekers, carries the heroes aloft: this is what constitutes the divine character of war’.16 Proudhon asks: ‘who cannot not see that [ … ] war has originally served as a mould of theology?’17 These myths and their concretisation as ritual and literature is historical evidence of the human rationalisation of war and conflict. As these religious ideas became ossified in and through social hierarchies, ideas of right and justice, of conflict and war were secularised in the judiciaries and state-forms of antiquity, but were always underpinned by theistic and transcendental justifications. With the unity of Church and state under Charlemagne, the abolition of polytheism in favour of monotheism, this was made explicit: the warrior is ‘grander than nature [ … ]. The sacred form of the warrior is central to the punishment of crime and the protection of the weak: this is the first form of justice in society [ … ]. The real Christ, for the masses, is Alexander, Cesar, Charlemagne, Napoleon.’18 Proudhon here follows Feuerbach, of course.19 In De la Justice Proudhon argued that ‘in a word, religion is the idealised and adored respect of humanity by itself under the name of God: that is the extent of the mystery’.20 But he does not claim, like Feuerbach, that the theological past is to be dismissed in favour of a more rational, materialist present. Proudhon argued that war and religion cannot be ripped asunder without denuding both of what renders each legitimate and gives historical founda- tions to social order. How would an atheistic society give moral meaning to war or social conflict, perpetual features of history and society? How could organised Catholicism sustain itself in France without the military; was not Napoleon III’s ambition to crown himself Emperor of Christendom central also to affirming his power? How could one without the other be rationalised? The atheist alternative was, for Proudhon, an inadequate framework for interpreting and legitimising the stark materiality of war. Would a war fought without the animating legitimacy of a god be a war worth fighting for? If not a god, then which moral principles ought to guide war? The problem, as I discussed in chapter three, was that the industrialisation and secularisation of society was radically challenging the principles on which society had been founded and slaughter was being justified in ever more materialist ways. Proudhon argued that the atheism of the Comtean variety, substituting the dictates of science for those of God and embellishing the former with positivist mysticism, was not the way forward either.21 This was the paradox of the metaphysical era: the denuding of society of its religious symbolism left it with a stark and amoral materialism. An anarchist social science was posited as a way out of this. 118 The historical sociology of war Incurring the wrath of his contemporaries, Proudhon followed the theocrat Joseph de Maistre in arguing that war was ‘a divine fact’ of life. However, where he differed was in arguing that war was not the historic symbol of God’s plan for humanity, ‘pruning’ unwanted elements as the theocrats would have it, but rather, like God, a historical manifestation of an all too human ideal. Penetrating this ‘divine’ ideal was the object of science, showing how these ideals have changed over time being the focus of the moral philosopher. By way of illustration, Proudhon places Comte and Kant in the metaphysical age, both having interpreted war as a providential feature of human social existence. Their retreat to theodicy, secular but explicit, was derived from their inability to understand the real causes of war. Forces that could not be understood were given a life of their own: history as a process of change was given as a divine plan or explained by the unfurling of a materialist telos. In this context, war becomes ‘theophany’, or the manifestation of the divine, and ‘if ever science penetrates this mystery, the divinity of our origin will have been debunked, and the fact of our terrestrial existence would cease to be divine. Rather it would be a scientific fact.’22 Of course, Proudhon believed it was he who had finally pierced this ‘dreadful superstition’.23 Central to this anarchist social science was recognition of the right of force. The right of force and the rights of peoples War and peace is a permanent antinomy of human social existence and in order to understand it, Proudhon argued, we need a wider conception of the phenomenology of war, specifically its moral aspect. The question is why do we need to know this? We need to understand war’s moral aspect in order to be able to explain why people are willing to kill and die and how it is we rationalise an underlying right of force. Like those who had preceded him, Proudhon argued that understanding war was of supreme importance in understanding the moral character of a society. But war was only a surface manifestation of a far deeper social conflict, one that stretched all the way down to the very fabric of our cosmological existence. It was for this reason that the formal definition of war as that waged between states was unhelpful. It presupposed and closed down our analysis of force. In order to understand war we need to see it less as sui generis and more as a macro manifestation of the exercise of force in general, and to see war as a sociological category. To this end, Proudhon began his definition of force through a conception of agency in general that echoed his account in De la Justice: For there to be action, physical, intellectual or moral, there has to be an environment related to the acting subject, a ‘non-me’ that poses itself in front of the ‘me’ as a location and material for action, that resists him and contradicts him. The action will thus be a struggle: to act is to fight.24  The historical sociology of war 119 The fact of our moral, intellectual or physical positioning in relation to one another necessitates that we act in concert and against one another. In short, this is an active and relational ontology of conflict. Proudhon suggests that it is impossible to understand being without a sense of its constitutive conflicts. Given that conflict was given in nature, there must be, he argued, a primordial right of force, clearly a concept that harks back to the most reactionary and militaristic of social philosophies and Proudhon courted huge controversy amongst his republican compatriots in invoking such a right. To gain a sense of how distinct Proudhon’s approach was to the standard republican conceptions of war and the right of force, a short comparison with Rousseau might be helpful. In chapter three of the Social Contract, Rousseau dismisses the argument that right can inhere to force. ‘Force is a physical power’, he states, ‘and I fail to see what moral effect it can have [ … ] For if force creates right, the effect changes with the cause: every force that is greater than the first succeeds to its right.’ Of course, this is but a preface for his subsequent and more important discussion of slavery in the following chapter, the content of which goes to the very heart of the republican project. Here Rousseau argues that a ‘state of war’ exists between slaves and their masters since the relation is one based on force rather than on ‘convention’, by which he means pact, law and so forth. Republican states are those in which the relations of force have been replaced by relations of law, in contradistinction to the monarchies of the eighteenth century, where unbridled power more or less reduced subjects to slaves, the property of the king. Thus, for republicans, relations of force are equated with relations of domination, the whole purpose of the republican project being to remove this domination from politics altogether. Likewise in international relations, where Rousseau, Kant and Comte each argued that the replication of some sort of republican convention would replace force with order. Thus for Rousseau, the equation of right and force would be ‘absurd and meaningless’.25 So how, then, can Proudhon possibly believe himself a republican and a defender of the right of force? First of all, Proudhon provides a far wider definition of force: Matter is a force, just like the spirit; science, genius, virtue, passions, as well as capital and machinery, are forces. We call puissance a politically organized nation; pouvoir, the political, collective force of this nation. Of all forces, the greatest, in the spiritual and moral as well as in the material order, is the association, which can be defined as the embodiment of justice.26 As forces coalesce, associate, their characters emerge. The moral organ, or the ‘organe de la justice’,27 emerges. Whether the human body or a group of people, both emerge out of their environment and in conjunction 120 The historical sociology of war with others. As humans associated, pouvoir became puissance and legal and moral norms emerged in and between societies, reflecting the character of the societies, the ecological context in which they developed and the norms they subsequently established between them. This analytical distinc- tion between social and political power is thus hugely significant – the former is latent the latter formalised. Both, however, rest upon a notion of force. Without that force of compulsion or resistance, where can social and political power come from? This position leads Proudhon into a discussion of slavery and force, and the echoes of Rousseau would have been evident to even the most casual reader here. To us, the following discussion is racist. Proudhon argues that the question of slavery and emancipation is complicated by inequality between races. The caucasians are superior in physical force, he states, but are also more beautiful, elegant, intelligent and moral. This ‘natural superiority is increased tenfold by the social state, which means no race can advance ahead of us’. He argues that because just a few English regiments were able to reduce both India and China to subject states, and so also the ‘Red-Skins’, Sudanese and South Americans were all subjugated, the inherently superior force of the white man was, for Proudhon, historically obvious.28 The question of the emancipation of peoples from the domination of the white man, he argued, is not one of making all equal before the law. The problem, as he was probably right to point out, is that the abolition of the feudal system, the emancipation of the workers and the principle of equality before the law was little better than that of slavery for the vast majority of workers. What irony, he states, ‘the worker of the English race, the strong race par excellence, is dying of hunger on the streets of London; which will be the fate of the black, one day, on the streets of Washington and Baltimore’.29 The abolition of slavery does nothing to transform the inherent imbalance of forces between races or within societies. Because they do not address the structural imbalance in society, ‘hard work’, ‘initiative’, ‘citizenship’ and ‘equal rights’ tend to the individual’s ‘extermination’. The consequence of white supremacy in the United States, Proudhon argues, is to exterminate the inferior races through ‘dispossession, illnesses, and poverty’. In short, the right of force of the whites is not altered by the emancipation of slaves and this will be reflected in their domination of the moral, legal, economic and political institutions of the day. ‘Who are, by contrast, the true negrophiles?’ he asks. Proudhon suggests, in tones that echoed the philanthropic predilections of bourgeois indus- trialists like Robert Owen and others, that it is those who seek to raise the moral and intellectual standing of the workers and blacks, whether slaves or not, to their own standing, who have the interests of the downtrodden at heart. It is not a matter of legal decree, but of physical involvement in the betterment of the conditions of peoples. This would build up the force of peoples so that they might combat the structures of injustice for themselves.  The historical sociology of war 121 Domination can only be challenged by force, though it should be clear by now that for Proudhon this does not necessarily mean the force of arms. What this does imply of course is that society and its shape is determined by these relations of force and domination, that rather than society being a step or two away from its true form, right is only ever the formal expression of force. So, if rights are not reducible to the law, where do they come from and how do we link them to force? Proudhon puts it like this: Right, in general, is the recognition of human dignity in all its faculties, attributes and prerogatives. There are therefore as many special rights as man can raise different claims, because of the diversity of his faculties and of their exercise. The genealogy of rights will thus follow the genealogy of human faculties and of their manifestations.30 His position here is that as the understanding of our individual and social natures develop, then so too do the types of rights we claim. But underlying this is the position that force is primary. ‘The right of force is the simplest and most elementary of all [rights]: it is the homage man pays to man for his force. Like all other rights it only exists in a condition of reciprocity.’ We have a corresponding duty to respect this right of force, but if we do not, then that right dissolves, and becomes a mask for simple domination. The right of war emerges directly from this right of force and it is the primal right of all societies. All groups tacitly at least, recognise this right of force between them, allowing the stronger to dominate for as long as this corresponds with the wishes or the lack of relative power of the vanquished. Societies are little different, therefore, to ‘international society’, the differ- ence being the way in which overbearing force has been legitimised between certain groups, but not others. War, or conflict, and the right to engage in it, is the underlying dynamism at the heart of all societies. Societies regulate the rights that inhere in this exercise of force by all manner of complex codes, from those of etiquette to religion, but the right of war does not disappear simply because it is decreed illegal by some power or other. It is always latent and dependent on a superior opposing force to keep it suppressed. Principal amongst these restraints is the rights of nations, constituted by ‘peace treaties’, which are the articulation of the right of force. For Proudhon, these treaties are far more realistic and based on far stronger grounds, than the fallacies of the General Will. Interestingly, Proudhon argues that all civil and political rights emerge from this prior, anterior, right of war and the rights of nations. Without the stability ensured by the pacts between nations, civil and political rights would be flimsy. If the General Will sustains civil rights, it is because the people are willing to bear arms to defend them, not because they are the manifestation of divine purpose. Thus, the civil and political rights of a 122 The historical sociology of war given ‘state’, or constellation of social groups, are dependent on their relative position in a far wider complex of forces, stretching beyond ‘borders’. Because war is the primary means through which societies are destroyed and transformed, the domestic equilibrium of forces is dependent, in the final analysis, on the international for its persistence.31 The standard argument that social force is ‘placed under the protection and authority of a public force which is the government’ is ‘contradictory’, since it is clear that the government is itself subservient, as the history of the Napoleonic period made abundantly clear, to the equilibrium established between states. Today, the hegemony of the United States plays the same role in innumer- able polities. So, from a right of force, to civil and political rights, Proudhon then discusses economic rights. These codify the underlying force of the labouring classes and are as related to ‘domestic’, as in the classical conception of the home, as they are related to international class solidarity. The latter, however, was yet to be realised since the full expression of working-class consciousness, the moral expression of the group immanent to the move- ment of society from feudalism to capitalism, had yet to flex its muscle. It is in this sense that understanding ourselves as social and historical beings leads to the articulation of new claims to rights that inhere in the discovery of new forces. This was the moral purpose of socialism – to give expression to this new force and to show its place in history and society. But as I dis- cussed in chapter three, and as this discussion should remind us, the problem of working class emancipation is intimately tied to the rights of peoples and the law of nations. It was not at all clear to Proudhon how the rights of such a plural group could be consolidated globally. As I will discuss in further detail in the following chapter, Kant’s second definitive article cor- responded directly to Proudhon’s: the problem of a law governed state is secondary to the relations between states and no domestic order is possible unless the international order is secured first.32 But here the similarities end. For example, contrast Proudhon’s position on the right of war with Kant’s. Recall that for Kant there are two states of being, one social and civil and the other pre-social and anarchic. The international realm and the state of nature are the primary examples of such pre-social states. The purpose of a theory of right was to bring order and law to the international and the civil order. War was only of value in establishing this universal order. Moreover, the project of perpetual peace was one to be carried out by enlightened elites, not the people, who would as soon wreck things designed for their benefit on the whim of revolution. In Perpetual Peace, Kant argued the following: After all, war is only a regrettable expedient for asserting one’s rights by force within a state of nature, where no court of justice is available to judge with legal authority. In such cases, neither party can be declared an unjust enemy, for this would already presuppose a judge’s  The historical sociology of war 123 decision; only the outcome of the conflict, as in the case of a so-called ‘judgement of God’, can decide who is in the right.33 Proudhon makes no claims as to whether right rests with the victor, only that right emerges from that conflict. The difference here is important, because to arrogate to the victor a right presupposes that rights are zero sum. It also valorises states in ways which are ultimately arbitrary and does nothing more than accept the prevailing strength of whichever despot is in charge. Proudhon also saw it as central to the republican mission to constrain these dominating powers in society, but he did not assume that the state was the institution through which to do it. Proudhon turned this understanding on its head, arguing that in fact the European equilibrium is a more obvious reflection of the natural order of things, given the equality of the relationships, and also more just precisely because in principle at least, non-domination was consecrated in anarchy. While this theory is developed considerably in his thinking about federalism (the subject of the next chapter) here Proudhon argues that domestic order is the formally hierarchical domination of society’s plural groups by the state, and to repli- cate this internationally, would erase the autonomy of states. Recall that for Rousseau, it was unclear ‘what moral effect’ war could have. What he failed to see was the centrality of morality to the causes of conflict and to the exercise of force or war. As Proudhon points out, ‘war [is] like a holy and sacred act, surrounded by honours, legal formalities and religious ceremonies’.34 Contravention of the principles of combat are often claimed to contravene the laws of the universe, of God, all principles that one, other or both groups hold dear in a particular context. The warrior idealises the virtues of courage, bravery and so on, and he or she believes they are fighting for a higher cause than just themselves as individuals. As such, the outcome will either shake or confirm the morality of the act. The same is true of armies. In statements that inevitably (if mistakenly) aroused claims that he was a chauvinist and glorifier of war, Proudhon argued that La Grande Armée, the citizen-soldiers of the revolutionary period, was the epitome of social force: ‘the true representa- tion of a country, in its relationships with foreign countries, is its army; and, since this army is the strength of the people, it becomes, in times of war, its consciousness; and even if defeat is foreseeable, war is the most sacred and most glorious duty for the citizen, because it means saving his homeland.’35 Proudhon proposes that ‘[f]or there to be a true right of nations, there must be, in the moral being that we call the nation, an order of relationships that is not to be found in the simple citizen’.36 This emergent quality is what we confuse with the government or the state as a whole, which is only a small but disproportionately powerful group within this wider group. Proudhon’s social theory led him to assume a plurality of different political, social, economic and religious groups, and given his context it would have 124 The historical sociology of war been clear that modern warfare and modern political organisation meant that these plural groups were capable of uniting only in the most extreme circumstances: war. Before the levée en masse, whole societies rarely if ever fought one another. But for Kant, ‘[t]he concept of international right becomes meaningless if interpreted as a right to go to war. For this would make it a right to determine what is lawful not by means of universally valid external laws, but by means of one-sided maxims backed up by physical force.’37 Since there are no such things as universally valid external laws, we might be well advised to at least consider Proudhon’s framing. He summarised his theory of the right of force and the rights of peoples like this: The right of force, the right of war and the right of nations, defined and circumscribed as we have just done, supporting, implying and engen- dering each other, govern history. They are the secret providence that leads nations, makes and unmakes states, and, unifying force and law, drives civilization on to the safest and widest road. Through them, many things are explained that no ordinary law, historic system, or capricious evolutions of chance can account for.38 It is worth noting here that Proudhon’s conception of history is of force guiding history along the widest and thus the least determined route, leaving the future and conceptions of right open. But if Proudhon is wrong, and war has nothing to do with right, then it would follow that, all our institutions, our traditions and our laws are infected by violence and radically flawed; the result would be a terrible thought, that all power is tyranny, all property usurpation, and that society has to be rebuilt from the ground up. There would be no tacit consent, prescrip- tion, subsequent conventions, which could make up for such an anomaly. One does not prescribe against truth; one does not compromise on behalf of injustice; in short, one does not build right on one’s own negation.39 Most of his republican contemporaries would readily agree that it was more than necessary to rebuild society ‘from the ground up’. But their mistake was to assume that it would somehow be possible to remove this right of force by law without needing some compelling force of their own to suppress opposing forces. The material reality of war Much of the preceding discussion has discussed war in the ideal and in abstract. In book three of La Guerre et la Paix, Proudhon turns to the emerg- ing science of strategy, the militarisation of society, the industrialisation of  The historical sociology of war 125 the military and the changing experience of the use of military force to illustrate his argument about the absence of any progressive role for war in human history. This book draws most of its explanatory force from the context in which it was written. To recap, the 1860s were the height of republican anxiety regarding the adventurism of Napoleon III, his ramping up of the arms race with England, his militarisation of France and the worry that the first Great Power war in Europe in almost a generation was just around the corner.40 Napoleon III’s claim that he was at the forefront of the movement for national liberation soon rang hollow once his ambitions for Italy were seen for what they were, once Mexico fell and Algeria remained a blight on French claims to be the moral standard bearers for Europe. Proudhon, like many of his contemporaries, worried that little good would come from Napoleon III’s actions, but more worryingly still, the industrialisation of the military was ramping up. This context matters also because the laws of war, Proudhon argued, in quintessentially neo- Aristotelian fashion, are internal to its practice. Proudhon argued that while the objective of war has historically remained relatively constant (he sug- gested that assimilation, secession, or control of a people, are the defining objectives of war), the means by which this has been realised have changed over time. This change has had an intellectual and a material aspect, with the norms surrounding killing developing alongside the tools. As these means of killing change they clash with the ideological legitimisations inherited from previous generations or with those of the adversary, and new rationalisations emerge. All of this takes place at the level of practice. It is in the act of battle that these laws are observed or contravened. These rules or forms of the procedure of war are in no sense arbitrary: they naturally flow from the notion of war itself, from its nature and from its purpose. Their violation constitutes a crime for the offender, who is likely to be severely punished if he is defeated. Violations sometimes diminish, at other times cancel, the victory, and at the very least infect the new order of things.41 The spell of war’s ideal is consistently broken by its brute materiality and thus while war is right-making, it is often, if not always, a flawed and tainted justice. After setting out this argument in a little more detail, I will develop Proudhon’s use of the duel as the most appropriate analogy for the evolution of warfare. What I will show is that, despite his recognition of the centrality of war to all we might consider right, there was, for him at least, nothing inherently progressive about war. Proudhon argued that the conventions against poisoning water supplies, exterminating entire villages, and others aimed at ‘softening’ war have arisen out of respect for the enemy and the need for this mutual respect to exist in order to validate the results of the victory and to infuse the juridical aspect of war-waging with some legitimacy. Should these rules and norms 126 The historical sociology of war not be recognised, ‘one infraction of the laws of war leads to another’,42 to escalation and atrocities, and the progressive erosion of the normative constraints on action. This process, Proudhon argued, was exacerbated with the emergence of artillery and machine guns. Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade epitomised this movement in public consciousness and reflected the transformation at the heart of military practice and its rationalisation in the nineteenth century. In sum, the practice of killing at a distance made it almost pointless to exercise valour in war. This material transformation took place alongside an equally profound transformation in collective reason. As French society became ever more positivist, as geometry, topology, and the science of projectiles began to take hold of the practice of war, science and instrumentality took the place of élan. This utilitarian ethic drove the practice of war. The attempts of the Baron General of Brigade, Antoine-Henri Jomini to fuse élan and scientific strategy, by showing that morality was in accordance with geometric prin- ciples governing warfare was but one example. Jomini argued that by applying overwhelming force at a geometrically ascertainable point of attack and pressure was the core to revolutionary military success. This intellectual revolution bore little resemblance to the actual fighting of wars, indeed, Jomini’s theories were based on a revisionist account of the revolutionary wars, but the scientific method nevertheless came to dominate military strategy. In so doing, Jomini unhooked military strategy from its social context and from actual historical practice,43 but for Proudhon, what was most worrying was the way in which military achievement was being equa- ted with rational, precision fusillades, and the equation of revolutionary morality with a materialist science of geometry and topology.44 What sort of morality was this? What principles of justice could possibly issue from such stark materialism? The extensive discussion of the emergence of modern artillery and strat- egy in book three stand in stark contrast to Proudhon’s discussion of the ideals of war in books one and two. How can we base right on indiscriminate killing, he seems to ask? How can war be heroic if artillery renders death on the battlefield more of a certainty than a risk? Proudhon laments the passing of revolutionary élan, the moral fervour that animated the military in times past, and worried that arming the French infantry with revolvers would enfeeble them morally and put the soldier ‘outside combat’.45 As he puts it: ‘In short, the materialism of the battle has increased with civilization, contrary to what should have happened.’46 Where Comte and Condorcet saw gunpowder to be a spur to the realisation of our modern follies but ultimately progressive, Proudhon saw it as nothing of the sort. As states militarised, fusing political, social and military development, bringing more centralisation and indiscriminate killing, all without the requisite popular control, Proudhon foresaw society taking steps backwards. ‘War, in short, industrializes itself more and more’47 and now ‘it has become impossible to purge the duel between states from the horrors  The historical sociology of war 127 that dishonour it’.48 War could no longer be right-making because it was a material practice that had been explicitly denuded of its moral content. Proudhon contrasts the evolution of the duel with that of war, particularly in relation to the rules of the contest, and he was particularly well qualified to do so. In 1848 Proudhon contested a duel. The cause, like the immediate or surface cause of many wars, was a personal insult. Félix Pyat verbally abused him, calling him an ‘abominable pig’ during a confrontation in the corridors of the newly founded French Assembly, to which Proudhon had been elected by some margin. Proudhon punched him in the face. Pyat challenged him to a duel, which the Parisian workers and the police attempted to stop, but failed. Believing he had to defend his honour, he fired two shots, but no one was hurt. Afterwards he denounced the tradition as a ‘ridiculous comedy’ and, when challenged to a second duel within a matter of weeks he refused, believing it to be a plot by the Jacobins to oust him from parliament for good.49 Fourteen years later he rationalised the event thus: ‘Universal conscience, more powerful than the police of kings and the wisdom of lawyers, decrees that [war and duelling are just]; and it is because universal conscience decrees it thus, that rules are imposed on duelling, and that the murder committed by the duellist is excusable.’50 But where did these laws of the duel come from? Proudhon argues that the progressive accentuation of the personal valour associated with the duel developed throughout its evolution from proxy warfare to surrogate riders on horseback to a two-man shoot-out in shirtsleeves. The retributive justice of the contest emerges from the purposive human reinforcing of the sanctity and honour of the contest itself, a contest which decides right by force where no other party can so legislate. Over time the element of personal risk and the immediacy of the contest are accentuated to cement its solemnity. In the duel, a victory won by fraud annuls it. Honour remains with the defeated and social pressures effectively invalidated the contest through ostracism.51 This is almost the complete opposite of the processes involved in the industrialisation of the instruments of mass killing and the distancing of combatants in modern warfare. Writing in the mid-nineteenth century, Proudhon watched the grand duel between nations begin its terminal decline. Napoleon Bonaparte’s campaigns were perhaps the first and last test of civic élan and he lamented its passing; that decisive battle that tests the moral strength and power of a nation, epitomising its valour and heroism through its military was gone.52 In direct contradiction of Comte, Rousseau and Kant, who believed that in war lay the providential motor of history, Proudhon argued that: What I would call the depravation of battles dates back to the invention of gunpowder and the increasingly decisive predominance of firearms over cold steel. But it is important to notice that the use of artillery, after having suggested the idea of overwhelming shocks, seems to tend, 128 The historical sociology of war nowadays, through the perfecting of weapons, to make the encounter of peoples impossible.53 As Proudhon prayed at the end of book three: ‘For the grace of God, protect us from the introduction of utilitarianism in war as much as in morality.’54 There was no one listening. The economic causes of war Proudhon argues that there are two general types of causes of war. The first, common-or-garden variety, are the political or religious causes, as well as jealousies, pride, the search for prestige and so on. The second type, the deeper causes of war, are those which animate the first type, set the context for them and are permissive of them: these are wholly economic. In this Proudhon agrees with Grotius that property relations are at the heart of the causes of war.55 So how does this argument break down? Proudhon answers that, at root, the need to feed one’s self is the basic animator of life. Remove that capacity and conflict for resources is just around the corner. In short, the principal cause of war ‘is the lack of subsistence, or, to put it more elegantly, a RUPTURE OF THE ECONOMIC EQUILIBRIUM’.56 Proudhon explains this theory in the following way. Our natural, human condition is one of poverty. This is composed of three interrelated economic ‘laws’. First, we need to consume. Second, unlike animals we need to produce in order to consume. The demand to strike a just balance between the two is our third law. The precise nature of the balance between production and consumption is related to access to resources, ability and ingenuity, cooperation, technological advancement, social and individual need, the weather and so on. As such, the antinomy between production and consumption is permanent, but the way in which it manifests is historically and socially specific. Thus for Proudhon, quite apart from the socio-political causes of the rupture, which he discusses at length and to which I will turn in a moment, the slightest disruption of the ecological environment through drought, flooding and so on ‘produces disorder’,57 and this is as true for plants and animals as it is for humans. Confusing those readers who held out for the promise that industrialisa- tion would eradicate famine, war and other human ills, replacing them with plenty and the abolition of work, Proudhon claimed that the most avaricious and luxurious nations are those most imminently in decline. Proudhon argues that the most stable societies are agrarian and self-sufficient, which, while prone to natural shocks, are less susceptible to socially caused ones because the division of labour is less complex. These societies are what he calls poor, but poverty is not to be feared. He presents an ascetic picture of poverty, one which harks back to his peasant upbringing. Proudhon was no idealist and experienced famine first hand as a child. But what he argues is that this condition of poverty places an immanent moral law upon social  The historical sociology of war 129 and individual activity, one that values ‘temperance, frugality, our daily bread obtained through daily labour, [because] misery [is] prompt to punish gluttony and laziness: such is the first of our moral laws’.58 The happiest are those who ‘understand best how to be poor’, a position which ought not to be confused, as it was, with a call for religious fatalism regarding one’s poverty.59 The alternative has been to elevate wealth to ‘a maxim of morality and government’ and this creates more problems than it solves.60 It is to the emergence of pauperism in modern society that he then turns. Production, he argued, is prompted by need, but to produce is demanding and our capacity to produce is not limitless; as needs rise, the work day lengthens and wages drop, consumption falls and a new equilibrium is found. If the work day is shortened and salaries rise, production falls and the inverse crisis unfolds. In order to maintain low wages and high production bourgeois industrialists had to achieve three things: the invention of ever more technologically or culturally advanced needs; the rational- isation and economisation of production and consumption; and the elim- ination of ‘parasitisme’. Each of these also produces counter tendencies. The former demands an education, the second political economy and the third social solidarity. If one fails, the others follow and society collapses. By contrast to rural agricultural communities, the relative line of poverty may rise in industrial societies, but no matter how technologically advanced a civilisation, the precariousness of the social condition remains the same. A rupture in that economic equilibrium will cause crisis and collapse that can only be assuaged by attempts to appropriate from some other group in order to pacify another, until the whole system collapses either through war or revolution.61 The move from agricultural life to industrialisation spreads the risk but leaves us all the more vulnerable. As he put it: National enterprises, these gigantic works, the marvellous machines, the fecund inventions, this glory of industry; all of this serves only to spread out our powerlessness, and we would be wise to renounce it. Tools of misery, pure deception! [ … ] Ah! If this is the way in which you deign to deliver us from war, we prefer a thousand-fold to run the risks [ … ] Industrial charlatan, stock skimmers, oh you plague of financiers, vile parasites. Yes, retreat! Deliver work from your odious presence.62 The problem, as this quote demonstrates, is that capitalism is inherently parasitic. As I discussed in the previous chapter, the alienation of surplus through the institution of private property always created divisions between owners and workers, thus undermining the social solidarity necessary to calibrate a non-agrarian society. For Proudhon, a society in which para- sitism is institutionally embedded and secured is one that is therefore in terminal decline. Industrialists, financiers, stock jobbers, all take without producing. They are by definition anti-social because they exacerbate the 130 The historical sociology of war economic balance necessary to ensure that production and consumption is calibrated. While the great industries could work for society’s benefit, they in fact operate for the benefit of the few at the expense of the many. The consequence is ‘pauperism’, a condition in which the economic equilibrium is imbalanced. The basic definition of this state is one in which societies, either through parasitism, sloth, exploitation, natural disaster, invasion or expropriation, cannot produce enough to survive as a whole. Pauperism is a condition as imminent to the wealthy as it is to the poor but the former have greater means to avoid it than the latter and these means are often directly related to the expropriation of the poor through force, law or wage-slavery. Proudhon argues that there are three distinct periods in which historical imbalances in the economic equilibrium emerged. In the earliest religious stage, the hierarchy in society was sustained by reference to man’s subservience to the whims of nature or of the gods. War was synon- ymous with pillage and there was a right of pillage, rationalised according to these theological principles, and sanctified through rituals that gave meaning to action. The economic causes of pillage and plundering were at once ‘the most abusive [of the right of force], but with a religious sincerity and secur- ity of conscience that covered all the excesses’.63 Proudhon draws ample examples from the Bible of economic deprivation causing tribes to migrate and thus come into conflict with others, or of hardship justifying the exter- mination of opposing tribes; how all newborn babies had to be thrown into the river to avoid wider social starvation, and so on. In the times of Homer and the Greek city-state system, piracy and pillage were well- regarded precisely because the leaders were the most adept at it and their actions sanctified by the gods who were also in constant battle with one another. The establishment of inland cities was designed to avoid sea- borne attacks on shore-line dwellings, which in the process consolidated a particular form of patrician class that controlled the defence of the state and the economic resources necessary for their survival and consequently the survival of the city-state system itself. All these actions were rationalised by reference to the gods, since no other means of so rationalising their economic predicament was available. For Proudhon, this original seed of war as satisfying economic necessity has never left us. Plundering remains at the heart of war, but over time its form has been overlaid with more complex social rationalisations and the plundering has taken more complex forms. The pirates that plagued the coastal cities of Ancient Greece became the privateers of the modern period, chartered thieves plundering the vessels of foreign kings. The costs of battle were never really met and the state became caught in a vicious circle where only further plundering would balance the state’s books. Modern capitalism emerged out of the debt relations between privateers, conquistadors and monarchs, between the financiers and mon- archs and the taxation systems that emerged to pay back these debts.64 But Proudhon was clear that free commerce was no silver bullet. As commerce  The historical sociology of war 131 becomes freer, states needed to defend themselves from foreign products and prices as much as foreign armies. The imposition of taxes and tariffs becomes economic conflict. As war debt turns into private debt and public consumption imbalanced against domestic production increased debt levels internally, so the internal conflict is exacerbated once more. The riches acquired from the plundering of colonies produced ruptures in the economic equilibrium in these now destitute places and thus the conflict in that region is exacerbated and linked back to the parasitic, foreign state. The riches acquired through colonialism increase the power of one state in relation to another and the fear this inspires in neighbours is a catalyst for arms races and further exploitation in order that states can maintain their status or compete with that of others. At each step, the surface causes of war may seem to be petty jealousies or pride, but underlying it all is this structural economic disequilibrium. Proudhon explained the culmination of this process in modern Europe in two ways. The first was as militarism. Where liberals saw public debt as the source of restraint of the state, or the liberalisation of the economy as a way of empowering the people, what they missed were the ‘prefectures, commissions, endowments, gifts, sinecures [ … ] pensions [ … ] latifundia, the sale of slaves, confiscated lands, tributes’, and innumerable other means by which the state shores up the support of the powerful.65 These gifts are the means by which the elite sustain themselves too, and were taken directly from the populace, either as pillage, tax or repatriations. The people pay the ‘fees of war’. This has the consequence of drawing in the social elite into the state’s orbit, and their fates become entwined with that of the state, because the suppression of peasant rebellion is as vital to the elite who depend on their expropriation. Where most were trumpeting the development of industry as a panacea for society’s ills, Proudhon was well aware that the state-led industrialisation of France was militarily led, as it was elsewhere. This suggested that the state was actively militarising in the interests of a spurious conception of social order. Proudhon refers to La Glorie, the crowning piece of French armoury in 1852, the 600,000 men in arms and the budget devoted to keeping these men off the land where they might have produced and sending them off to the Crimea where they were ordered to destroy another society, thus precipitating future ruptures elsewhere. And so the descent into pau- perism continued. As Proudhon put it: ‘Thus, there is always militarism internally, and tendency to conquer externally [ … ]. Just as heroic looting under Alexander and Cesar transformed itself into conquest, conquest, in turn, tends to transform itself into gouvernementalisme.’66 This ‘gouver- nementalisme’ is defined as ‘a system of exploitation, administration, com- merce, production and education, etc., for the State’. Pillage may have receded into the background, but only because the system which pillage produced is now being sustained by force.67 By this account, ‘politics, in its essence, its law, in all its institutions, is war’.68 132 The historical sociology of war The transformation of war So how do we bring about peace? First we have to know what peace is. If peace is to have its own, positive reality, defined in a way other than simply the absence of war, Proudhon had to discuss what this sort of peace would entail, what it would be like and how we might achieve it. Much of what Proudhon argues here is better put in the works that followed this and which are the focus of the following chapter, but a few words on the broad outline will help in order to bring this discussion of La Guerre et la Paix to a close. For there to be a positive peace, Proudhon argued, more than merely the absence of open warfare, the antagonism which drives social conflict must be redirected. In the final book of La Guerre et la Paix Proudhon follows Comte in arguing that the industrial class is supplanting the old aristocratic order. Proudhon takes this further and argues that, ‘[c]urrently, it is the working class that tends to replace the capitalist, owning and patented bourgeoisie, and makes its appearance through these two slogans: the right to work and universal suffrage. We are only at the beginning of the latter movement.’69 Following but extending Comte once again, he argues that ‘the working section of humanity is the only part capable of putting an end to war, by creating the economic equilibrium, which implies a radical revolution in ideas and customs’.70 But as he had been arguing for some 20 years, this re-calibration of society could not take place through the system of universal suffrage. Universal suffrage solicits opinions from individuals qua individuals, whereas what animates society is the conflict between groups. This is a subject that he dealt with schematically here and the following chapter expands this considerably, but for Proudhon the system of universal suffrage asks groups to relinquish this collective capacity in favour of individual political subjectivity and alienate their political force to representatives who may or may not reflect their interests. Proudhon develops a functional approach to democracy, seeing in associations the primary nucleus of democracy. Proudhon also saw the industrial and agricultural process as the permanent successor to the creative and destructive urge he identified in war.71 The political battles fought over the control of the productive process could only be resolved by repatriating the democratic control of these processes to those who instantiate them – the workers – and federating their control across function and geographical space. This, like the constitutional recognition of the bourgeoisie and the progressive extension of suffrage, would be a natural next step in the democratic process. As, he argued, ‘peace is not the end of the antagonism’,72 rather the antagonism must be redirected. While ‘the hypothesis of a universal and definitive peace is legitimate’ this can only be achieved through ‘the organisation of peace’, not the abolition of war. If society depends on conflict for its dynamism, then to outlaw social conflict is to resolve the question of power in favour of the status quo and the  The historical sociology of war 133 dominant class, to halt history in its tracks and to deny the opportunity of those without political power the right to direct their future in their own interests. Proudhon argued that with the emergence of the industrial working class a new peaceful order was imminent. He therefore felt confident enough to close La Guerre et la Paix with the spectacularly short- sighted claim that ‘HUMANITY NO LONGER WANTS WAR!’73 Conclusion La Guerre et la Paix is a statement of Proudhon’s philosophy of history that develops key ideas from De la Justice. What Proudhon achieves is the conceptual linking of war and justice. Rather than see them as diametrically opposed, and while avoiding the converse (that might makes right) by taking an historical and sociological approach to war and justice, Proudhon believed he had fathomed the macro forces of history and the process by which collective reason and collective force was recalibrated. His con- clusion was that, if force was the guiding hand in history and systems of justice reflect constellations of force, clash with them and shape their future, anarchy was our lot. Order depended on complex balances of collective force and reason, across social groups and time. Conceptually speaking, by linking war to justice in this way, we are able to dispense with the idea that international relations are morality-free zones. A sociological approach to war suggested to Proudhon that war was a supremely social act, conducted by social groups animated by the norms and customs of their ancestry and routinely destroying those of others. Violence is not a-social, it takes place within society and needs to be understood in that context. Proudhon gives us method in that regard. This process has no transcendent telos, though Proudhon was quite happy to concede that collective force and reason shaped and constrained war, just as they did society. By distinguishing between types of force and refus- ing to valorise the state, methodologically or politically, Proudhon’s social theory allowed him to account for the construction of political orders in anarchy, through war and because of his moral phenomenology, he was able to show how these processes were considered moral. There were, however, alternative grounds on which to defend the moral sanctity of groups, while also recognising the centrality of force to order and justice. Proudhon still held true to republican ideas of empowering the people, empowering groups and giving force its due rather than seeking to suppress all and every challenge to power. Central to this was the recog- nition that the working class were both the exploited, facilitating war by monarchs, and the political subject of the future if only their collective force were recognised and legitimised. By ending the alienation of economic and political power, not only would states be brought to heel, but a new collec- tive force or social group would take shape that could counterbalance the other plural forces in society. It was through this recalibration that new 134 The historical sociology of war regimes of justice would emerge, but not only was the French working class not a self-conscious group, it also, by implication, lacked that ‘idea’ that could guide collective action. The standard idea that was routinely proposed was to funnel the claims of all political subjects through the republican state – the assumption being that only there could a universal political subjectivity be realised, through revolution and war if necessary. Proudhon disagreed believing that the material development of society at that time suggested that an alternative path had to be found if the advances of republicanism were not to be lost to the interests and power of the industrialised and militarised state. The wish-dreaming of republicans in relation to international relations was no less fanciful than it was in relation to domestic order. Like contemporary and past theorists of international order, Proudhon argued that domestic order was constituted by a temporary balance of power between emergent social groups and that the exercise of force (in all its plural forms) was central to this order. Watching the militarisation of society unfold, Proudhon was certain that the absolutism of the past would be surpassed in new and more pernicious ways, hence the origins of his anarchism. Like some theorists of contemporary IR, Proudhon also believed that anarchy had distinct virtues, but we can only see these virtues if we see the state from Proudhon’s perspective, a perspective that few might have agreed with until after the travesties of the twentieth century. In the following chapter I set out, in general terms, how Proudhon would reorga- nise society such that justice and order could be secured in anarchy. 7 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle The means by which Proudhon inverts the republican schema are quite simple and involve two related moves. First, rather than assume that the state supervenes all other social groups, both ontologically and morally, Proudhon posits that all social groups have latent moral and political capacity and the state is but one overbearing group among many. Second, rather than assume that individuals are developing a higher and universal rationality, which can only be realised within republican states, Proudhon assumed that a universal rational subject is impossible for two reasons. First, individuality is forged within the plural groups that we build and into which we are born. Second, the state was a spurious agglomeration imposed upon people and in contradiction to the plural groups of which they were a part, forcing them to alienate their political autonomy much as did proprietors backed by the conventions of liberal property relations, themselves backed by force. By this account, the republican mission to mould citizens within the structures of the state exacerbates rather than solves the problem of order and justice in anarchy because it imposes an identity and an order. Given these two conditions, Proudhon argued that the fullest expression of a republican politics was to federate all ‘natural groups’ that expressed their political capacity, since securing the groups that held most meaning for individuals was central to securing human flourishing. Since the state would be at the very least de-centred as a con- sequence, anarchy prevails and none can formally dominate in a formal anarchy. While hierarchies naturally emerge, the objective of a principle of anarchy and anarchism would be to ensure that these hierarchies, or emergent ‘regimes of domination’, are combated directly. The challenges that emerged from this basic starting point were dealt with in detail, not only by Proudhon, but by the plural anarchist tradition that followed him. What I will set out in this chapter, then, is a general account of the first and necessarily imperfect articulation of an anarchist political theory. In order to secure the autonomy of both the individual and group in anarchy, Proudhon argued for an institutional order structured according to a federative, commutative and mutualist principle of justice. This involved first, identifying all the ‘natural groups’ of which society was composed, 136 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle instituting direct democracy within them, then federating them according to function and need. If no transcendent principle of political order could be found, and force was central to politics, empowering social groups was central to securing republican liberty. Most importantly, given the emer- gence of a new working class consciousness, the republican impulse had to be extended to the economy. Proudhon’s aim was to ‘REPUBLICANISE PROPERTY!’. By this he meant that the workers must reclaim their political and economic capacity by instituting direct democracy in the workplace and federating according to trade, function and need. If all political legitimacy comes from the people, not as an amorphous mass but in the complex plurality of our functional differentiation, democracy and politics ought to reflect that complexity. Since there are no natural hier- archies, only formal and informal ones which are all more or less negotiable, order is structured in anarchy and justice will emerge therefrom. From his very first published work, Du Célébration du Dimanche (1839), Proudhon aimed at a ‘state of equality which is neither communalism [communauté] nor despotism, neither parcelling away nor anarchy, but liberty in order and independence in unity’.1 He would rethink the concept of anarchy over the following 25 years, but the general continuity remained. Moreover, Rousseau’s republicanism, clearly echoed here, loomed large in Proudhon’s mature anarchism and will be a central focus of this chapter.2 For Rousseau (and the ideologues of the nation state that followed him) the communion of citizens could only be forged within the communitarian confines of a nation state, where all sub-divisions, potentially divisive appeals to the loyalty of the citizen, were erased. The state would be the direct conduit to God, the realisation of the fullest human potentiality and the fulfilment of history, whether that was France, Italy, Poland or elsewhere. The Swiss confederation was, ironically for Rousseau, a repub- lican enigma, the Philadelphia system also. But to Proudhon, the Helvetic Confederation of 1848 approximated an ideal, consecrating close to 3,000 communes, divided between 26 cantons, three official languages and cultural groups, two religions, an elected judiciary and so on in seemingly infinite complexity.3 Switzerland was, Proudhon believed, an imperfect template for the political reorganisation of political community as such. It is in his final works that he sets out this theory in the fullest detail. In 1862, a year after publishing La Guerre et la Paix, Proudhon took advantage of a general amnesty issued by Napoleon III and hurried back to Paris to avoid the Belgian mob. Once back in Paris, spurred by the more positive response to his views on federalism and Italian unification there than in Belgium, he marshalled the theoretical insights developed in De la Justice and La Guerre et la Paix to begin detailed political and normative engagements with the European equilibrium, the role of political economy in sustaining the European order, constitutionalism, and set out an original framing of the federative principle. Over the following three years the works he wrote that bear on the subject matter of this chapter are,  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 137 Du Principe Fédératif (1863), France et Rhin (1867), La Fédération et l’Unité en Italie (1863), Si les Traités de 1815 ont cessé d’exister (1863), De la Capacité Politique des Classes Ouvrières (dictated on his deathbed in 1865) and Contradictions Politiques, published posthumously in 1867. One of the key things that has hindered a deeper engagement with these writings is the seeming confusion, reflected in the secondary literature, in Proudhon’s understanding of the concept of federalism.4 Most of this debate is the product of Proudhon’s lax use of key terms and a seeming vacillation between key positions. For example, Proudhon closed the Petit Catechisme Politique, the focus of chapter five, by arguing, ‘As the supreme guarantee of all liberty and all right, universal federation should replace Christian and feudal society, without recourse to soldiers or priests’.5 On the following page he argues that federalism is not only an end point towards which society is working, but is no less than ‘the political form of humanity’,6 a position, that on the face of it seems to mirror Rousseau and Kant’s position quite closely. For example, Kant argued that, ‘[t]he idea of international right presupposes the separate existence of many independent adjoining states. And such a state of affairs is essentially a state of war, unless there is a federal union to prevent hostilities breaking out.’7 But then, not three years later, at the end of La Guerre et la Paix, Proudhon argued: The federal system is only applicable between small States, united for their mutual defence against the attacks of larger states. The universal hierarchy that would issue from larger agglomerations would resolve itself into a universal compression, which would always imply the cessation of the antagonism, and consequently death. The ideal political system for humanity is a general equilibrium of States, attracted and limited by each other, and in which liberty and life results incessantly from reciprocal action, I mean to say practically from mutual menace. This equilibrium is PEACE.8 Republicanism, particularly in its Napoleonic form, was in fact a drive towards universal empire: The idea of a universal sovereignty, the dream of the Middle Ages and formulated in the pact of Charlemagne, is the negation of the indepen- dence and autonomy of states, the negation of all human freedom, which states and nations will eternally agree to refuse. In addition, it would mean the immobility of humanity, just like despotism within a state, or communism within a tribe, amounts to an immobilization of state and tribe. Civilization works only through the influence that political groups exert on one another, in the fullness of their sovereignty and independence; impose a constraint upon them all and the great organism stops – there is no longer any life or idea.9 138 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle Here he seems to have completely rejected federalism in support of the much hated doctrine of the balance of power. If anything, this vacillation reflects a wider republican double-bind. The only thing that seemed to guarantee the autonomy of states was anarchy and yet anarchy was antithetical to the republican project. So, how could the relations of all groups be constituted justly in an ordered anarchy? That is the question that this chapter seeks to provide preliminary answers to. It is structured in the following way: first, I return to Proudhon’s theory of the antinomy and apply this concept/ method to his understanding of the evolution of the state. This is significant in terms of his debate with those who argued that the dialectical unfurling of history led directly to higher forms of political order. Proudhon’s theory of the antinomy suggested otherwise. Proudhon fleshed this analysis out with a discussion of the irrational evolution of the French civil code from 1789 to 1852. I then link this discussion to his analysis of the 1815 treaties and the constitutionalisation of the international order in the aftermath of the Congress of Vienna. He argued that there was a more rational and just order latent in the Holy Alliance than in the republican wish-dreaming of his contemporaries – a position that will no doubt still surprise many today. Finally, I return to the politico-economic corollary of this constitutional project. In De la Capacité Politique, Proudhon linked the federalist discus- sion of Du Principe Fédératif with the ‘revolutionary ontology’ of the Petit Catéchisme and the political economy of mutualism. Here he argued that the reclaiming of the alienated political and economic powers was achievable through the democratic affirmation of the political capacity of all of society’s natural groups, and through their federation according to a principle of mutuality. This would constrain states and unleash society’s potential while ordering the European anarchy from the bottom up, rather than the top down. Central to this is the concept of autogestion, or worker ‘self-government’, a politico-economic system Proudhon believed to be the fulfilment of the republican project. The political antinomy: authority, liberty and political dissolution ‘THE ANTINOMY CANNOT BE RESOLVED; this is the fundamental flaw of the entire Hegelian philosophy.’ This, as I explained in chapter five, was how Proudhon approached one of the most topical philosophical debates of the nineteenth century. His position was that the poles of the antinomy are held in contingent equilibrium, the balance between the poles being redefined with the times, dependent on material context or intellectual development. Proudhon denied the idea of transcendent progress. For Proudhon progress related more to developing the conditions for change than in change itself. Progress was about opening up to contingency and throwing open the doors to innovation and experimentation. Central to this was the defence of the plurality of society and the moral autonomy of the individual, without which change would be impossible. Progress, therefore,  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 139 inhered in the emancipation of the individual and all social groups. The challenge was how to regulate or institutionalise this anarchy such that none dominated all others, and how to do so without imposing some spurious order in turn. The answer was both philosophical and historical. Du Principe Fédératif opens with the bold assertion that the constitutive antinomy of politics is that between authority and liberty. Throughout history all political systems have sought to balance the demands of the two, the various political orders we have seen being contingent responses determined by the internal pressures on political institutions and the exter- nal pressures on the same institutions from outside, from the social and environmental context, other groups and nature itself. Following Aristotle once more, Proudhon argues that the resolution of the antinomy between authority and liberty in time and place had given rise to four ‘ideal conceptions’10 of political systems: these were monarchy, panarchy, democ- racy and anarchy. These could also be divided into two ‘regimes’.11 The first is the regime of liberty, which includes democracy and anarchy; and the second is that of authority, which includes monarchy and panarchy. Panarchy, or the government of all by all, is a synonym for communism, Rousseauean republicanism and all the other wish-dreams of the Middle Ages. Each of the four ‘aspire to become dominant: their pretentions to omniarchy is without doubt’.12 This is as true of anarchy as each of the others. But each of the four ‘ideal conceptions’ are nevertheless fated to remain ‘perpetual desiderata’, precisely because in reality actual political systems represent temporary and varied manifestations of the balancing between the two regimes of liberty and authority: i.e. mixed constitutions. In Contradictions Politiques, written around the same time, but published after his death, Proudhon rephrased the political or constitutional antinomy as that between autocracy and democracy, but essentially the theory is the same. Since it is a little more developed, here, a few words on this theory will help flesh out what he was trying to get at. The antinomy between two political poles is resolved in time and place through inevitably mixed constitutions.13 Even autocratic states have a modicum of delegation and representation, that is to say, participation. Democracies will also have elements of autocratic rule and the mono- polisation of power, anarchies will have informal hierarchies, and so on. The ways in which political orders change and develop, their purity compro- mised, depends on the relative positioning of the various ‘natural groups’ in relation to one another, and the collective forces and collective reason that constrains and enables their actions. This reflects no underlying logic except that which is immanent in the positioning of society’s constituent groups and their pouvoir vis-à-vis one another. Proudhon illustrates this argument, in much the same way that Comte did, and in keeping with the centrality of his sexual politics to his project as a whole, with a discussion of the family as the protean or primordial political unit of society. Proudhon argues that the family is a regime of 140 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle authority par excellence. In the original European tribes the father was at once leader, elder, warrior, owner and patriarch. Monarchy is this familial rule writ large. The king sees himself as the head of his own family which quickly becomes conflated with society as such: ‘En deux mots. … L’état, c’est lui.’14 The flaw in medieval thinking was to assume that the relations that held within a family could hold for a larger political unit. Proudhon argued that dreams of panarchy, the indivision of powers and universal sovereignty are impossible to realise and attempts to do so necessarily corrupt the ideal type. The institutional forms necessary for absolutism, work against its very realisation. Power cannot actually be monopolised and delegation and the division of powers is inevitable, which leads to the erosion of that power. Thus the first swing towards the regime of liberty, the opposite pole of the political antinomy, takes place as a consequence of trying to realise authority. Proudhon is effectively arguing the polar opposite of Kant: it is not that the real issues from the ideal, but the opposite. The ideal is constantly shattered by the real: ‘simplicity never issues from the ideal; it never concretises.’15 By his analysis the real undermines the ideal, forcing us to reconsider it in a new light, against new material realities and prompts new ideals to shape and guide action, which will themselves be shattered in turn. This antinomy between the real and ideal is as important as any other in this formulation. The wider historical sociological point here is that political institutions are in a continual state of ‘dissolution’.16 For Proudhon, this tendency to collapse is inherent to order and progress itself. Rather than seeing political institutions as the unfurling of a political rationality leading them ever closer to republican ideals, political institutions tend towards collapse and reform because their internal drives towards authority tend to backfire. Nor could universal suffrage resolve this political antinomy – it too is fundamentally undermined by its own contradictions: the people cannot exercise their will without destroying government and the government cannot impose its will without descending into ‘absolutism’.17 Republicanism is an attempt to constitutionalise these new political cleavages that emerge from this process of political dissolution, or entropy, to balance them such that they do not overpower one another and so that order can be agreed rather than enforced. But as these political units grow, break down and become ever more complex, as the division of labour in society becomes ever more complex as well, ‘[a]bsolutism resists as best as it can, but slowly recedes; it seems that the REPUBLIC, always fought against, despised, betrayed, banned, approaches every day. What advantage are we going to draw from this capital fact for the constitution of the government?’18 The standard response was to see in the emergence of republicanism the unfurling of human reason in political institutions. But rather than see the emergence of republicanism as also an anticipation of a transcendent order constituted in states, Proudhon saw the inevitable  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 141 division and sub-division of powers to portend a more just anarchy. As he discussed in Contradictions Politiques, the history of the constitu- tionalisation of French society since the onset of the Great Revolution suggests just this and rather than see the state as unfurling to ever higher degrees of rationality, Napoleon III’s coup d’etat in 1852 seemed to crystal- lise this capital fact for the republicans. For Proudhon this also undermined France’s claim to be ‘leading the march of civilization’.19 Napoleon’s failure to reintroduce the empire in his uncle’s image was due to the fact that the ‘political and social organism’ had completely changed since 1814.20 The Congress of Vienna (1815) had sought to defend and institutionalise the ‘principle of equilibrium’ in international affairs as a block to Napoleon’s imperial tendencies and in defence of the autonomy of the European imperial monarchies and their possessions. The deliberations that took place there, Proudhon argued, were the first manifestations of a secular political rationality, which is to say that the Congress is significant for Proudhon because it opened the era for the rational, secular and scientific experimentation with politics in a way previously unparalleled.21 The adoption of the Constitutional Charter accepted by the restored Bourbon monarchy in 1814 was central to this and recognised many of the gains of the revolution, while it also provided a template for the con- stituionalisation for the rest of Europe. These two processes were mutually supporting: defending the autonomy of states in relation to one another was only possible if the revolutionary populations of Europe were given more of a stake in the political process, but equally constrained vis-à-vis one another in the interests of the dominant powers. That was the emergent equilibrium. But the attempt to constrain and stabilise what was essentially a funda- mental imbalance in this political equilibrium, that is to say, the holding back of the power of the people, set the transformation of European com- munity in motion. But the outcome was never certain, as the restoration of Europe’s monarchies and the failure of republican constitutions throughout this period demonstrated. Perhaps more important for the collective reason of Europe was that the recognition of constitutional monarchy indicated that divine right to rule was no longer legitimate. This concession stoked the flames of revolu- tion, a revolution given voice through the emergence of a rational discourse of politics and science and directed towards trying to rationalise a political order constituted by new political cleavages. Questions of equality, privilege, tradition, participation, and so forth, all had to be reworked in this ‘positive’ context. Thus, the fundamental political contradiction at the heart of this Consti- tutional Charter was the idea that by maintaining a king, who had a closer link to God, the transcendent nature of the constitution was maintained, renewing ‘the eternal pact between man and God’.22 This was clearly not the case. Rather than precipitate ever higher forms of rationality and 142 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle enlightenment, the restoration of the July Monarchy in 1830 consolidated the theocratic rationalisation of political order. With the onset of the 1848 revolutions the secular revolutionary idiom through which the socialists and social scientists rationalised their social engineering failed for this lack of appeal to a population still thinking in terms of a political theology. It is this context which explains the ubiquity of religious discourse in the revolu- tionary scientific texts of this time. The French were trying to replace the Church first, capitalism and the absolutist state second. If there was no unfurling of rationality in the Charter, then some other process had to be at work. Proudhon posited that the antinomy between autocracy and democracy provided a more effective key to explaining the evolution of French republicanism in the nineteenth century. As mentioned, for Proudhon all political orders are necessarily mixed, even autocracies must contain some delegation and all democracies have elements of dictatorship and domination. Delegation and domination naturally generate scission and rebellion. The mutual opposition of the various poli- tical groups struggling against the imposed norms and institutions causes tendencies to centralisation and control in one direction and an opposing pull of liberalisation and rebellion. This struggle of forces causes the pen- dulum to swing between the antinomic poles of democracy and autocracy, each one propelling the movement in one way or another, never realising the ideal desideratum, and giving politics its constant movement.23 ‘The every- day life of the collective being, nation or State, emerges from the equilibrium of the political system.’24 As families grow and age, individuals break off. As families coalesce into tribes, towns and cities, the mutuality of authority evident within the family is harder to recreate, the immediacy lost and it is here that the political antinomy spills out into society. As cities grow in size, colonies break off and develop elsewhere, sometimes with close ties to ‘the mother’, sometimes not. The new groups tend towards unity, but the larger they get, the more likely they are to break down as a consequence of the delegation of authority, geographic spread and so forth. ‘In every organism, the tendency to unity is in inverse proportion to its mass’, Proudhon argued, and ‘[i]n every collectivity, organic power [puissance] declines in relation to what it gains in understanding, and vice versa’.25 So, the larger a political unit, the more fragile it is and the more it depends on collective reason to hold together its collective force; the smaller it is, the more secure it is and the more it operates instinctively. Imperialism and absolutism on the other hand, are the forced (re)inte- gration of disparate parts in a new unity. In a lengthy footnote in Contra- dictions Politiques, Proudhon argues that the 1848 constitution was essentially an exercise in internal imperialism, dissolving all difference into a higher unity; a unity of chambers in the assembly, a unity of political subjectivity before the law and so on. The motto, ‘The Republic, one and indivisible’, was a manifestation of republican despotism, a variation on  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 143 a theme rather than a qualitative difference in political forms. Individual representation in one, two or three chambers, and through the various hierarchies of municipal and departmental authority, and equality before the law, represented the elision of the underlying social plurality and con- solidated power in the centre at the expense of all else. As Proudhon put it, society’s natural groups were governed ‘like a conquered population’.26 Though why this is expressed as a simile is unclear given the actual imperi- alism of most of Europe’s states in relation to their subject populations, from Ireland to Wales and Scotland, the plural peoples of Spain, France and Italy across to Austria, Hungary, Prussian imperialism in Germany, Russian imperialism, European colonialism in the ‘New World’, and so on in infinite relations of formal domination by force. As modern society developed, the functional division of labour becomes more complex and intricately linked. This pluralisation of society was inherent to its integration and growth, from a couple of families, to towns, cities and so on. As the agglomerations grow ever wider, functions become more specialised and interconnected, and people’s loyalties are rendered to guilds as much as with regions. In an effort to undermine the autonomous political capacity of these groups, popular sovereignty and universal suffrage canvasses individual opinion en masse, in order to sanctify the dominating power. This imperialism precipitates the antagonism between the particular and the whole, between the demos and the autocrat, an antinomy that if imbalanced in whatever way, leads to revolutionary upheaval or reactionary despotism, depending on the constellation and relative collective force/reason of the emergent social groups. But rather than allow the dissolution, the fatal mistake of centralising, unitarist politics is to try and hold the whole together, to find new and more elaborate ways of justifying a state, which reaffirms the despotism of its rule and the arbitrariness of the principle of unity, precipitates the very challenge it seeks to quell and pitches society back into turmoil once again. What Proudhon saw in the evolution of the French constitutional order from the convocation of the Estates General to the coup d’état of the 2nd of December 1851, was less the inevitable march to ever higher forms of liberty and more a rearguard action designed to impose rule in the face of dissolution, which precipitated its own reactions, first in favour of repub- licanism, then monarchy, and back again. For Proudhon, then, there is no distinction between ‘international’ and ‘domestic’ politics. States dominate and conquer populations and the relations between states are of the same kind as the relations between any other groups, only that the former are better armed. Constitutionalism is the principle of ordering relations between groups. Between states, this relation is horizontal and treaty-based. Between states and their subject populations it is enforced and subsequently mystified with the ramblings of the theocrats and providentialist republicans. It soon becomes clear that the natural cleavages within society are impossible to reconcile in parliament, 144 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle foreign forces sow intrigue and threaten invasion, and this causes scission and rupture, intrigue and hostility within the assembly and in society at large. The dissolution of parliament is inevitable unless a strong man steps in, which is the manifestation of political despotism, but a natural outgrowth of trying to dominate society in the name of some spurious principle of unity. Proudhon thus reframes the republican project as one which sees the definition of ‘tyranny’ as the ‘absorption of local sovereignties in a central power with the aim of either dynastic glory, exploitation by the nobility, the bourgeoisie or the sans coulottes’.27 The individuation of the population and their forced identification with a spurious centre is the mark of universal suffrage and it is at odds with pluralist social reality. And yet, the pinnacle of universal suffrage is when the masses identify with their Caesar, their emperor, and strong man politics becomes Bonapartisme, later fascism, all in conditions of acute conflict or war – total war being the sine qua non of the unitary nation state. Of central political concern is the way the core political groups align and how ‘class struggle’ plays out in ways commensurate to the relative alignment of these larger groups. So, If aristocracy unites with royalty, the resulting government will be a moderate monarchy, which we call now constitutional monarchy. If it is the people that enter a coalition with the prevailing authority, the government will be an Empire, or an autocratic democracy. The theocracy of the Middle Ages was a pact between the priesthood and the emperor; the Caliphate, was a religious and military monarchy.28 This understanding of the class basis for politics was central to under- standing the possibilities and problems inherent in the unification of Italy and Poland, as I discussed in chapter three. So, to sum up this section, with each see-saw of the political antinomy, the emergence of ever more complex divisions of labour on the back of the emergence of ever more plural social groups, it becomes increasingly clear that politics is simply not tenable on the statist, centralist, unitarist or authoritarian model. Proudhon argued that ‘arbitrariness inevitably enters politics, corruption soon becomes the soul of power and society is driven, without rest or mercy, down the endless slope of revolutions’.29 This double movement, one of degeneration, the other of progress, that resolves itself in a unique constellation, also results from the definition of the principles, from their relative position and their roles: here again no ambiguity is possible, there is no room for arbitrariness. The fact is objectively evident and mathematically certain; this is what we will call a LAW.30  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 145 The federative principle Federation, Proudhon recognises, is a liberal principle ‘par excellence’, and one underpinned by the equally liberal idea of contract. Proudhon defended synallagmatic or bilateral, commutative and aleatory contracts. To better understand the significance of this, it is worth unpacking Aristotle’s formulation a little further, since this is Proudhon’s inspiration here.31 Aristotle distinguished between legal, distributive and commutative justice. The former defines the relations of the parts to the whole; the second the relation of the whole to its parts; while the third governs reciprocal obligations and presupposes neither centre nor circumference. This latter conception of the contract is what underpinned Proudhon’s vision of politics because it did not presuppose any necessary directionality or hierarchy. It is the ordinary every day conception of a contract used by those who want to secure their relations with one another by means of a written or verbal bond. If society had no natural centre, no transcendental order or form, and was entropic and radically plural, then distributive and legal conceptions of justice would be spurious or partisan, favouring one group over another, privileging a centre, providing the temptation to commandeer that centre in the interests of some other particularity and so on and so forth. Commutative contracts are reciprocal, horizontal and rescindable, so if they no longer perform their function, they are no longer binding. The question then emerges of who should enforce these commutative contracts? It is important to recall that contracts do not exist or emerge out of social vacuums. They attain their force from their inter-relation with the wider social norms that consecrate them, and from the economic and social division of labour, themselves born of wider inequalities which necessitate them. In short, commutative contracts depend for their force on the wider constellations of collective reason and collective force in a given society. If common normative principles break down, contracts will be uncertain; if society is dominated completely by a superior force, then contracts are not worth the paper they are written on. Contracts derive their force from the emergent systems of justice that shape society as a whole. But despite being contingent and malleable, commutative contracts nevertheless help regulate what is an inherently complex and ever-changing social reality. This understanding of contract feeds into a constitutionalist project. Commutative contracts are as appropriate for the relations between groups as those between individuals and between individuals and groups. In order for the political contract to fulfil the synallagmatic and com- mutative condition that the idea of democracy suggests; in order for it [ … ] to remain advantageous and convenient to all, the citizen, when entering the association, should: 1. Get as much from the state as 146 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle he is willing to sacrifice to it 2. Conserve all his freedom, sovereignty and initiative, except that which is relative to the special object for which the contract is formed and for which one asks the state to guarantee. Understood and settled in such a way, the political contract is what I call a federation.32 The term ‘state’ is used here in the widest possible sense of ‘political community’ or ‘association’. Thus, FEDERATION, from the Latin foedus, genitive foederis, i.e. pact, contract, treaty, convention, covenant, etc., is an agreement through which one or more heads of families, one or more municipalities, one or more groups of municipalities or states, mutually and reciprocally bind themselves for one or more particular objects, whose burden then specifically and exclusively rests upon the shoulder of the delegates of the federation.33 Note here that Proudhon sees delegates rather than representatives as the relevant signatories and that the contractual relations can be as plural as there are groups to agree them. As Proudhon put it elsewhere: ‘If political right is inherent to man and the citizen, then suffrage must be direct and the same right is also inherent, a fortiori, to each group naturally formed of citizens, to each corporation, each municipality or city; and suffrage in each of these groups, must also be direct.’34 With democratic relations in the plural social groups ensuring that all groups and individuals are self- governing, the relations of collective force and collective reason that under- pin these contracts are more progressively equalised, approaching the republican ideal that they should be maintained ‘automatically’, to borrow Kant’s terminology. Turning to the commune as an example of such a political association, Proudhon argued the following: The commune is by its essence, like a man, like a family, like all individualities, an intelligent collective, moral and free sovereign being. As such, the municipality has the right to govern itself, to administer itself, to impose taxes, to dispose of its properties and revenues, to create schools for its youth, to install teachers there, to have its police, its gendarmerie and civic guard, to appoint its judges [ … ] etc.35 This model is taken almost directly from the Swiss understanding of cantons, where all of these things are de rigueur. Proudhon extends this, arguing that the military, a collective force par excellence, ought to be democratically run and accountable to society. The same principle applied to the economy, a domain few thought should be politicised let alone democratised. Proudhon argued that,  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 147 After having organized the balance of services and guaranteed, through free discussion, the independence of the votes, in order to make univer- sal suffrage intelligent, moral, democratic, one should make the citizens vote according to job categories, thus conforming to the princi- ple of collective force that forms the basis of society and the state.36 In a footnote Proudhon contrasts his position with that of the Jacobins. In the theory of J.-J. Rousseau, which is also that of Robespierre and of the Jacobins, the Contract is a lawyer’s fiction, invented to justify the formation of the state and the relationship between the govern- ment and individuals in some way other than through divine right, paternal authority or social necessity. This theory, borrowed from the Calvinists, constituted a step forward in 1764 [ … ] In the federative system, the social contract is more than a mere fiction; it is a positive, effective covenant, that has actually been proposed, discussed, voted, adopted, and that is regularly modified depending on the will of the contracting parties. Between the federative contract and the contract of Rousseau and of ‘93, there is as much distance as between reality and hypothesis.37 While the Helvetic Confederation was nowhere near ideal, nor was the American Federation, both of which Proudhon discusses at length, they clearly demonstrated that the anarchism he propounded was not, in the strictest sense, ‘utopian’. The former, Proudhon pointed out, had battled the Catholic secessionists, the Sonderbund, leading up to the 1848 constitu- tion, and thereby forcing them to remain part of the confederation, and the latter was at that time at war with itself.38 The problem in Switzerland, Proudhon believed, was that political rights were illusory or tenuous for as long as secession was disallowed, thus revolution is inevitable where an overbearing power is not possible (thus making it inevitable eventually anyway), while in the US, crucially, economic rights were not guaranteed through mutualism and so the rupture in the economic equilibrium destabi- lises the political federation and demands centralisation to stabilise it in the interests of whichever group has preponderance.39 Thus, in both cases, secession had also to be a core right. This was antithetical to most nationalist, federalist republican projects, in which ‘[t]he absence of unity was seen as the principle of a satanic kingdom; anarchy, dissolution, death’.40 The European equilibrium As I have argued, for Proudhon the international system was not a discrete, sui generis area of social interaction, nor did it operate according to funda- mentally different principles or laws of social action. Rather, international 148 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle relations were the relations of particular social groups – nations, peoples, dynasties, governments, businessmen, and so on – that managed the anarchy between them in much the same way as they managed the anarchy within their territorial domain, that is, by force and the threat of its use, and ideological domination through the manipulation of collective reason, as much as by contract, pact and treaty. States were no different in kind to the other ‘natural groups’ that go to making up the rest of (global) society. In chapter six of Contradictions Politiques, Proudhon defines what he means by ‘natural groups’ in a little more detail. These groups are any collectives that ‘willy-nilly impose upon themselves some conditions of solidarity … which soon constitutes itself into a city or a political organism, affirms itself in its unity, its independence, its life or its own movement (autokinesis), and its autonomy’.41 Groups have an internal collective force and collective reason relative to their internal constitution (the relative power and positioning of individuals and sub-groups) and their position in the socio-political and economic environment. Natural groups are the institutional manifestation of collective reason and force that relate to one another in a plurality of ways, with members often part of more than one group, frequently with ‘divided loyalties’, but no less often with clearly specified social roles and responsibilities. The model for the progressive institutionalisation of natural groups, one which presupposed and defended the autonomy of its constituent groups, was to be found, Proudhon argued, in the relations between states. The principle of the plurality of sovereign powers [ … ] in other words, the political-economic law of the division of the human collective into independent states, protected by their balancing, is an essentially federalist idea, which has changed the course of civilization, and whose influence has been of such epic proportions that in the long run it cannot fail to transform the internal unity or the centralising of states wherever its effect is felt. The French Revolution should resume this tradition from the treaty of Westphalia.42 This federative principle was the recognition of reciprocal obligations through fully rescindable pacts. That these pacts had been relatively well observed in Europe indicated the inter-relationship between force and contract. Historically speaking, the Congress of Vienna was the fullest realisation of a process that had begun with the treaties of Westphalia and signified the first shift towards recognising secular conceptions of the balancing of social order, an order in which temporal rather than spiritual power determined social relations. The French Revolution extended this secularising impulse and almost overnight Europe’s more liberal imperial powers constitutionalised themselves internally in order to respond to the demands of the new emerging bourgeois classes. By way of empirical  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 149 evidence, Proudhon lists nearly 100 constitutions that were ratified, replaced and amended between 1789 and 1864. These constitutions were fragile things, but it was, he argued, precisely because of the emergence of new and powerful social forces that these constitutions became so important. ‘Each violation was met with protest and each time the debate was resolved in favour of equilibrium.’43 What this signified to him was that, [t]he current states of Europe can be considered as the final product of the agglomerating and unitary movement, just as the current geological constitution is the product of the last revolution of the globe. By estab- lishing the principle of equilibrium, the treaty of Westphalia marked the moment when the tendency towards agglomeration began to stop. The treaties of 1815, by opening the way to the constitutional era, have prepared [its] dissolution.44 Seen from this perspective, the dreams of universal federation premised on a unitary state outlined by Rousseau and qualified by Kant, were utopian. In putting these plans into practice, the Jacobins had contributed to the destruction of feudal relations in the countryside, but by stamping out the federalist intentions of the Girondins, the ‘one and indivisible republic of the Jacobins [ … had] rendered French liberty impossible and the Revolution illusory’.45 Moreover, it was their centralising credo that turned them all ‘against the treaty of Villafranca’,46 which, recall, Proudhon had proclaimed as the ‘Good News’ since it proposed a federal constitution for Italy in 1863, which would have been a step in the right direction as far as he was concerned. Ultimately, ‘the Revolution must encircle the globe; peoples are functions of one another, just as are industrial groups and individuals within a state. As long as a global equilibrium is missing, the Revolution is self-evidently endangered.’47 There is no distinction, therefore, between international and domestic relations. There are only inter-group relations. In this context, a federative principle is applicable to all groups and ought to be so applicable, if we value the principles of non-domination and the prospect of human flourishing. Seemingly oblivious to the problems his lax use of key terms would engender, Proudhon summarised his federative principle like this: 1 Form medium sized, respectively sovereign groups, and unite them via a pact of federation. 2 Organise the government in each federated state according to the law of separation of organs; by which I mean: separate everything that can be separated in the exercise of power, define everything that can be defined, distribute amongst the organs or the different public servants everything that has been separated and defined; do not leave anything undivided; surround the public administration with all the conditions of publicity and control. 150 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 3 Instead of absorbing the federated states or provincial and municipal authorities within a central authority, reduce the attributions of the centre to a simple role of general initiative, mutual guarantee and surveillance, whose decrees are implemented only at the behest of the confederated governments and officials at their command.48 The socio-economic corollary to this political republicanism had been outlined in innumerable ways in his previous works, but in De la Justice he argued that to ‘emancipate’ labour meant, That individual freedom be respected; that the balance of services and values be realized; that the provision of capital becomes reciprocal; that the alienation of collective forces cease; that government be estab- lished on the democratization and mutuality of industrial groups, the locus of collective forces, be reformed according to the law of their relative weight; that primary instruction be taken away from the clergy; that vocational education be organized; that public control be assured; all things without which the emancipation of work is impossible, but that are repugnant to the interests of privilege, as well as to Christian thought.49 It is not until the final pages of De la Capacié Politique that we find the summary statement with which we opened this book: ‘[t]hat which is known in particular as le pacte de garantie between states is nothing other than one of the most brilliant applications of the idea of mutuality, which, in politics, becomes the idea of federation.’50 But while Contra- dictions Politiques and Du Principe Fédératif adequately expand on this anarchist constitutionalism, the politico-economic dimensions of this project are under-developed. In Du Principe Fédératif Proudhon stated that in relation to political economy, ‘[t]he public, who have been following my work over the past fifteen years or so, know what I mean’.51 But a synopsis would have been helpful to say the least. This statement is also unfortunate because it gives the impression that we should look back- wards for his economic theory, when it is better stated in Theorie de la Propriété and De la Capacité Politique des Classess Ouvrieres, both of which were published after Du Principe Fédératif. It is to these final texts that I now turn. Mutualism and autogestion De la Capacité was written in response to a request by Henri Toulain, a Parisian worker who later headed the French delegation to the First International, that Proudhon share his opinions on the recently published ‘Manifesto of the Sixty’. This manifesto, one of over 60 published since  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 151 the Great Revolution, uniquely called for working-class representation in the French Assembly on a quota basis. Proudhon rejected the call for parliamentary representation, but was struck by the fact that this was the first truly working-class expression of its own collective force and collective reason in the nineteenth century. Previously dispirited by the results of the plebiscite in support of Napoleon III, the Manifesto of the Sixty represented the stirring of an organic sense of collective self, and a demand for the political capacity to realise this working-class autonomy. Proudhon had been campaigning for this sense of collective self his whole life and so he took up the invitation and sought to set out the ‘idea’ he thought it needed. Following Kant, he argued that, ‘All societies form, reform and transform with the help of an idea’.52 De la Capacité constitutes the fullest articulation of his idea of mutualism. De la Capacité responds directly to this ‘Manifesto’. Large parts of the work were dictated by Proudhon on his deathbed to his friend Gustave Chaudey in 1865 and the final sections were completed after Proudhon’s death. Proudhon developed his sociological conception of groups and integrated it with a more worked-out understanding of the division of labour, arguing that industrial groups were functional and immanent to the production process, which is to say that the emergence of specialist or mass trades was immanent to the increased functional differentiation of society. But rather than see the working class as a single political subject, Proudhon argued that the division of labour was a dynamic, complex and disaggregating process and so such a class was unlikely to emerge.53 As I detailed in chapter five, Proudhon had argued from as early as his first memoir on property that collective labour tended towards the pro- duction of surplus. Collective labour produced more in less time, and the surplus emerged only from collective effort, where more was produced more quickly than could be consumed. This collective productive process produced a surplus and it was this surplus that the capitalist pockets and the state defends. Moreover, the authority structures within capitalist enterprises were such that workers were the functional equivalents of the subjects of the king – dominated and exploited as property. Wages act as the paltry recompense for the complete alienation of your liberty, and the product of your labour, to the capitalist.54 As Proudhon argued, in a capitalist society, the autonomy of the capita- list leads to domination of the workers, land like the relations within and between ‘states’, has the maintenance of exploitation at its heart, thus rendering it fundamentally unstable. Like the relations between states, those between producers and traders are constituted through commutative relations. The state, however, privileges some groups over others, because it too needs to extract a surplus to survive (as politicians do not produce their own food), precipitating the rupture in the economic equilibrium, or pauperism (see chapter six). 152 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle Unrestrained and exploitative autocrats in states or enterprises, facing off against one another with no source of income or strength but that which they can secure from their subject populations, are bound to lead to mistrust, conflict and war. For Proudhon, capitalism was essentially the transcription of feudal political forms to the economic relations of society – ‘industrial feudalism’ as he called it. The solution there, like the solution in the political sphere, was to ‘REPUBLICANISE … PROPERTY!’ As Bancal notes, ‘the root’ of Proudhon’s sociological conception of the transformation of the economy and of society lies in his theory of labour.55 Liberal political economy understood production but ignored the worker. Comte, by contrast, while he recognised the fundamental role of labour in the constitution of society, refused to see that the labouring classes had divergent interests to those of the state. Comte’s attempt to aggregate labour, also, in effect, elides the functional autonomy of the worker-group. Proudhon’s theory of mutualist self-management is fundamentally about returning that autonomy and agency to the worker and to his (never ‘her’, for Proudhon) necessarily communal workplace. Each workplace constitutes its own collective force and reason, a collective being that has moral and political value because it is the locus of individual fulfilment and develop- ment. The precondition of property ownership to democratic participation in the nineteenth century, effectively ensured that women and workers would never be political subjects. Moreover, it was not as univerasal rational individuals that humans were political subjects, but as workers that produce society daily through their actions in groups. It is here that our political subjectivity is formed but without direct democracy in the workplace, there was no control over that process. Of course not all ‘natural groups’ have political capacity. Proudhon makes a distinction between two types of capacity – ‘legal’ and ‘real’. Legal capacity is treated by Proudhon as relatively self-evident. It refers to all those human and collective activities that are recognised and either sancti- fied or prohibited by law and underpinned by force. Law ‘confers’ capacity upon individuals and groups, but cannot create them. ‘Real’ capacity, on the other hand, is pre-legal or socially emergent. It is this which law ought to reflect. Proudhon also argued that for a group or individual to have real capacity it must have three further properties. First, individuals or groups must have consciousness of themselves, their dignity, value and place in society. Second, the group or individual must affirm this idea of their self-consciousness as a manifestation of his or its understanding of social life. Finally, it is no good to simply think it through and proclaim it; the idea of collective or individual capacity must be affirmed practically.56 However, there are clearly variations in ‘degrees of capacity’, and this is directly related to the difference between having consciousness of one’s interests and the success of the practical demonstration and affirmation of  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 153 these capacities.57 In other words, groups can have capacity, but be wrong about how they ought to act because of a misunderstanding of the nature of the social context. Or a group might be actively opposed and suppressed, its collective conscience latent or dying out. Also, an idea of collective con- sciousness can exist without anyone fully understanding how the interests of that group ought to be achieved (the question of means), and without a firm understanding of the appropriate aims of the campaign for capacity (the ends). This, Proudhon argued, was the post-1848 situation of the French working class and the problem to which De la Capacité was directed. The socialisation of property by the state in 1848, in order to meet the demand of a right to work, reinscribed the feudal order, where ‘property always remains a concession of the state, the only natural proprietor of the earth, as though representing the national community’.58 Turning his critique towards the Luxembourg commission and this first experiment in social democracy, Proudhon argued that The Luxembourg Commission suggested that the public domain should bring about the end of all property; association should bring about the end of all separated associations or their re-absorption into a single association; competition turned against itself, leads to the suppression of competition; collective freedom, finally, encompasses all the corporative, local and particular freedoms.59 Social democracy, like universal suffrage, absorbs the natural politico- economic differentiation of society within the state. If Louis Blanc and the Jocobins had realised their projects, communism in power, he argued, would imply: Undivided power; absorbing centralisation; systematic destruction of all individual, corporative or local thought, considered secessionist; inquisitorial police; the abolition or at least restriction of family, and a fortiori of heredity; the organization of universal suffrage in order to serve as a perpetual acceptance of this anonymous tyranny, through the preponderance of average or even worthless subjects, always in majority over capable citizens and independent minds, declared suspect and naturally small in numbers.60 Mutualism, by contrast, meant empowering society’s myriad groups and resisting the centralising power of the state. This would recalibrate the antinomy between authority and liberty according to the immanent transformation in collective force and reason. There would be nothing permanent about this transformation, but it would be a marked improve- ment on the existing order, judged according to republican concerns with liberty, fraternity and equality. In practical terms this also involved 154 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle establishing mutual assurance institutions, his idea of ‘the bank of the people’, a predecessor of contemporary credit unions, which guaranteed reciprocal obligations between contracting parties and which ensured full and democratic participation in the governance of collective inter- dependence as a prerequisite of economic capacity. Proudhon argued that the mutualist contract is ‘le contract social par excellence’, it excludes ‘all egoism, all free riding, all arbitrariness, all speculation, all dissolution’.61 Perhaps something of an exaggeration, Proudhon was nevertheless con- vinced that ‘Mutuality, or a mutualist society, is Justice’.62 It would be the immanent expression of a social order that was open and dynamic, without centre or circumference. Conclusion There is some confusion in Proudhon’s use of terminology throughout his final works. Key concepts, such as state, sovereignty, autonomy, mutuality and federation, confederation and communism are used with very little precision. But as Rufus Davis argued in a well-received survey of federalist theory (that contained no mention of Proudhon at all), the future of the federal idea ‘rests with those who can resist the urge to tidy the matter’.63 His argument is that comparative, analytical and deductive or hypothesis-driven approaches to federalism fail to provide universal or transcendent answers precisely because federalism is an evolving, cultu- rally and historically specific form of political organisation whose essence cannot be captured in this way. The designation ‘federal’, Davis argues, tells us nothing more than that a group of political communities ‘desire to draw together, or reconstitute themselves in a particular form of association, constitutionally and structurally distinct from all other forms of association’.64 The uniqueness of the federal pact or contract is derived from the uniqueness of the situation it is designed to facilitate, cons- titutionalise or legitimate. Proudhon’s theory of federation was also the culmination of a far deeper exploration of the dynamics of political history, of the ontology of social order and change. It was an institutional form, he argued, that was at once more robust for being flexible and more unifying in its ability to institution- alise complex diversity. From his perspective, federation was a principle that could help institutionalise mutual balancing between groups and it is in this sense that it is the universal corollary of the international anarchy. Towards the end of Du Principe Fédératif, Proudhon argued that, ‘[t]he twentieth century will open the era of federations, or else humanity will resume a thousand years of purgatory’.65 Within two years, the optimism of the closing words of La Guerre et la Paix was gone. What is perhaps most significant is that within a further six years, Europe’s balance of power was tipped towards Prussia, who, following the Napoleonic model, centralised and unified Germany. Italy had done the same and forces were unleashed  Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 155 that culminated in the emergence of what Talmon has called ‘totalitarian democracy’ across the liberal and illiberal world. It is in this context that Proudhon’s writings gain their most potent historical force. As Amoudruz pointed out, the twentieth century witnessed the ‘inverse’ of what Proudhon had argued for. 8 Anarchy is what we make of it Rethinking justice, order and anarchy today In the contemporary globalised world order, the methodological nationalism that has driven the study of politics and international relations over the past 100 years seems increasingly out of place. Over the past 50 years in particular, the global order has become radically more functionally and politically pluralised, integrated and complex. Close to 200 nation states now exist with a large proportion fending off challenges from their con- stituent regions, nationalities and communities. In Europe states are joining together, pooling sovereignty and cooperating on issues of mutual concern, including military expenditure, internal tariff barriers and establishing transnational legal systems. Some corporations today rival the power of states in terms of their balance sheets and political influence, while trans- planetary systems of judicial redress and devolved power provide a plethora of complex sites of redress and participation. Alongside this, environmental degradation, the ever-present threat of nuclear annihilation and cross-border vulnerabilities of numerous other kinds have universalised what were once discreet communities of fate. And yet, our democratic institutions have barely evolved to match this fundamental transformation, while the hege- mony of the liberal order constitutes a system of intellectual and material global domination unparalleled in human history. Prior to this process of functional differentiation, the early twentieth century experienced the most brutal experiments in unification, universal dominium and absolutism. Fascist, communist and liberal imperialism were competing totalising discourses from which we are slowly recovering. With the end of the Cold War, however, the market fundamentalism gathering pace in the 1980s went global. The collapse of finance capitalism from 2007–8 to the present has yet to run its course, but to date it seems likely that the bifurcation between polity and economy that collapsed so spectacularly into war in the early twentieth century has been avoided for the time being.1 A fundamental rethink of the providential role of the free market and the state is long overdue. But such is the hegemony of the liberal ideology that few have anywhere to turn. Part of the explanation for this enduring order lies in the hyper- institutionalisation of the global order and the consolidation of that order  Anarchy is what we make of it 157 through the hegemony of the United States and the neoliberal ideology that the powerful benefit so handsomely from and to which most believe they owe allegiance. But the persistence of riots, protest, direct action, poverty, famine, rebellion, war and the everyday transgressions of so many, suggests we are a long way from the Promised Land. One thing seems certain, if we are to ever reach it, we will likely have to leave the state and capitalism behind – their legacy is one of crisis and failure. In this context we need to rethink democratic participation and the relationship of anarchy to order and justice. In what follows I will restate the case for a return to Proudhon’s ideas as a source of possible inspiration for the road ahead. Part of the force of this argument, I hope, lies in the historical legacy of statism and the irony that the transformation of political community has led us back to an anarchist politics. The second element of persuasion lies in the logical coherence of Proudhon’s international political theory. The latter should help drive the former forward. In summarising the main arguments of the book, I also want to make the case for the inversion of the republican way of thinking about justice, order and anarchy and the radical extension of the republican freedom. Reclaiming the emancipatory potential of anarchy The primary aim of this book has been to show that we can fruitfully rethink the emancipatory potential of anarchy in world politics by turning to Proudhon’s long-ignored writings on the subject. I have argued that the principal block to thinking creatively about anarchy in the context of globalisation, hegemony and the radical pluralisation of the global order is the weight of a very particular understanding of the past and the ways in which it structures thinking in the present. Past understandings of statehood and order, of progress and justice have ossified in such a way that anarchy has few if any positive connotations. This is compounded by a general ignorance of anarchist ideas, Proudhon’s (in their context) in particular. Ironically, it is the ‘realists’ that point the way to more progressive conceptions of anarchy. While most theorists of international relations see anarchy as the main obstacle to thinking clearly about the future of world order, the realists see anarchy as a principle which at the very least guarantees the autonomy of political units. The drawback of the realists’ conception of global order is that they refuse to disaggregate states and assume that anarchy constitutes an immutable structure which inhibits change and liberal and critical claims to transcendence in world politics. From the perspective outlined here, this is suggestive but limited. The ideology of transcendence has indeed had a pernicious effect on the possibilities for emancipation in world history. Progress is limited to a narrow and ultimately spurious liberal conception of the same. Further- more, doctrines of transcendence are as central to the ideological buttress- ing of the nation state as they might be of liberal and critical theoretical 158 Anarchy is what we make of it approaches to world order. Thus, realism is a valuable corrective to eschatology and providentialism in world politics, but by reaffirming the normative values of statism, the true emancipatory benefit of anarchy is overlooked. The aim of this book, then, has been to open up this conception of the normative value of anarchy by expanding on predominantly realist understandings of the virtues of anarchy. In order to do this it was necessary first to set out the internal logic of this way of understanding world politics, its historical genealogy and the contours of the debate. This meant returning to the republican critiques of conservative political thought in the late eighteenth and nineteenth century. It is here that this debate was first forged in an idiom we can still recognise since it was here that nation states first came into being. The republicans argued two things at once. First, the anarchy of the international order was a function of the despotism of monarchical empires. Constrain the power of autocrats, by either getting rid of them altogether or by constraining their scope for action through the progressive liberalisation of political institutions and, so the story went, states would naturally see the benefits of doing much the same thing in their relations with one another. The resulting egoism of nations, conceptualised in much the same way as republicans understood wild, stateless individuals, would likewise be constrained by liberal institutions. That is to say, the republican political orders within states had to be transposed to the relations between them and this would be a sufficient tonic to pacify European international relations. Those who opposed the republican impulse were considered to be in cahoots with the princely devils that preyed on the subject populations of Europe, seeking to act as a break to the irresistible forces latent in the inevitably progressive propensities of mankind. The progenitors of the three main forms of nineteenth-century French republicanism, Jacobin, liberal and positivist, were discussed in chapter three. The unifying thread of these three brands of republicanism was that each understood war and conflict to be the motor of progress. The varied theodicy underpinning their philosophies of history sought to explain the existence of evil as the cause of progress: our irrationality, our amour propre, or the destructive technological innovations of past societies marshalled to the ends of war-making, were the principal spurs of progress. Anarchy, by these accounts, was something we were destined to develop out of and the future, which could be divined from the logic of reason as much as from the material structures of history and of nature, promised a future transcendent order. Rousseau and Kant both saw the institutionalisation of the rule of law as the precondition of human freedom and the pinnacle of human development. Comte, by contrast, pointing to another trend in modern social theory, saw the rule of science and the discoveries of enlightened minds to be the ultimate arbiters of truth and right. For the positivists, law would be set down by the Priest Scientists, rather than  Anarchy is what we make of it 159 elected representatives. Either way, right and wrong were determined by the unfurling of the material or intellectual forces in history and it was the role of the scientist or rationalist or Jacobin to lead the way by divining the truths of nature on our behalf and getting the state to force us to follow their dictates. Order, for Rousseau, Kant and Comte, could only be achieved through the establishment of strong, hierarchically organised republican states. The claim that the ultimate triumph of republican notions of order and progress, institutionalised within liberal states and, it is further claimed, mollified by regimes of private property ownership, is given in the structures of nature, rested on the ancillary assumption that it should predominate at the expense of all other visions of freedom. Anarchy was, therefore, the antithesis of this project. My aim was to use this exegesis to preface a revisionist, contextualist account of the origins of anarchism and a defence of the emancipatory potential of anarchy, something which to date has not been done. My aim was also to locate anarchism, and more specifically Proudhon’s theorisation of anarchy and international relations, within what is undeniably among the most epochal debates of modernity and thereby hopefully restore some of the intellectual credibility of anarchism more generally. It is not only our understandings of anarchy that have ossified in particular ways today, but so too have our understandings of Rousseau, Kant and Comte. In order to get a sense of Proudhon’s intentions, it was necessary to reconstruct the debate between these three in such a way as to demonstrate how they understood one another, rather than how we might interpret their writings today. The hope being that this reinterpretation will spur others to reconsider the contemporary understandings of Rousseauean federalism, the ‘Kantian paradigm’ and ‘positivism’, as well as to use Proudhon to rethink the ‘anarchy problematique’ in contemporary international political theory. Seen in the context of the suffocating political philosophies of republicanism in the nineteenth century, and against the backdrop of the failure of statism in the twentieth, anarchism can legitimately be presented as a wholly rational political philosophy. It may be one among many, but its virtues lie in the extension of republican freedom to cosmological accounts of order, the everyday practices of gender inequality, the regimes of domination structured by the state and private property, as well as to countering white supremacy and hetronormativity. It is here, in the link- ing of it to non-domination, that we reclaim the emancipatory potential of anarchy. From the outset, I argued that anarchy, a system without ruler or an order without an orderer, whichever definition you prefer, is the fundamental condition of the cosmos. Anarchy is, therefore, what we make of it. Because anarchy is indeterminate, this is surely a more appropriate template for politics than a providentialist account of human history. While traditional realist conceptions of anarchy suggest an immutable ahistorical order against which liberals and Marxists smash their heads in futility, neither the 160 Anarchy is what we make of it realists, critical theorists nor the liberals, have sought to rethink the conception of anarchy that underpins their theories in the way I have out- lined. What I have tried to argue here is that on the one hand anarchy is, as the realists contend, a transhistorical fact of life. But it does not follow from this that change or progress is impossible. In order to avoid imposing conceptions of the good life on others, progress needs to be reconceptualised as the process of opening up to anarchy, rather than an end point to which we should aim. We must accept that the past may well be far brighter than the future in many respects, and the future may well hold unprece- dented advances. But neither position is given in the structure of history itself, nor will a transcendent principle of political order ever be found. Our lot is to muddle through, making ever more sense of the systems of collective reason that shape our ideas and re-shaping the structures of collective force into which we are also born. Because our ideas are always historically contingent we cannot possibly know what we have collectively forgotten, nor, therefore, can we assume that our future ideas are latent in those we hold today. Much as history was proof to Proudhon of the irrationality of human political development, we can also see from our historical vantage point that faith in transcendent human progress is surely nonsensical: we are, after all, on the brink of the sixth major extinction, and should it come about, environmental and nuclear Armageddon would be entirely of our own making. But the republicans of the nineteenth century, much like their contemporary heirs, truly believed they had discovered the motors of history to which they were providentially sanctioned to make all of society bend, explicitly against its irrational, passionate, slothful, illogical or brutal will. Those who stood in the way of this modernist project were the agents of chaos and anarchy, rather than the warning bells of European civilisation. The failure of republicanism to speak to the grievances of the millions of workers and the ease with which the trade union movement developed into a revolutionary organisation before it was crushed by war and state repression, speaks volumes about the interests reflected in the mainstream republican project. But it is also important to recognise this republican legacy in both anarchism and more mainstream and social democratic forms of socialism, and extend whatever principles of justice we see as immanent to this project and which we also value today. How should we relate justice to anarchy? Rather than see them as diametrically opposed, as was conventional, Proudhon understood them to be their mutual preconditions. His account of what I have termed justice as immanent equilibrium relied on a conception of an infinite plurality of ‘natural groups’ pursuing their own ends within and intricately related to the broader contexts of social and group-based collective force and the macro, meso and micro collective rationalities that shaped and rationalised behaviour. There is no de-socialised form of human agency, there never has been and there never will be. In this resulting infinite complexity, anarchy is  Anarchy is what we make of it 161 the transcendent principle since directionality cannot, Proudhon argued, be demonstrated. Thus, conceptions of justice and right enabled and constrained inherently conflictual social practices as varied as love and war. War and conflict was right-making precisely because it was seen to be such a moral enterprise, resulting in a dynamic and agonistic equilibrium premised on the willing or begrudging acquiescence of the parties. Wars were fought for the most noble of causes, but the purity of these causes was consistently undermined by war’s sheer brutality. Likewise, gender relations may have been rationalised in an ideal manner by Proudhon, but the objective inequality of his understanding of them would have worked consistently against his ideals. Thus feminism, like the flexing of working- class muscle in the nineteenth century, was the motor of the immanent reframing of justice and order in anarchy. The outstanding question is how then do we institutionalise this anarchy? The first thing to bear in mind is that Proudhon’s international political theory is not a vision of a future world order, rather it is the theoretical elaboration of an institutional principle of mutualism and federation that can hold plural and competing visions of the future in dynamic equilibrium. The nation state, by contrast, closes down those possibilities by soliciting opinions from progressively de-socialised indivi- duals and setting itself up as the ultimate arbiter of right. This demands the alienation of political powers, much as the institution of private property limits freedom by demanding the alienation of economic powers. Collective reason, like liberalism, rationalises that alienation. The first step to institu- tionalising anarchy is thus a critical project, where groups and individuals set out where domination is taking place such that they can to affirm their autonomy, their capacity, and exercise their pouvoir politique through a process of autogestion, rather than representation and alienation. Proudhon believed these would regulate their inter-relations in anarchy according to a loose principle of federation, institutionalising and mutually regulating their inter-relations according to necessity and function. Proudhon’s vision of anarchism sought to ensure that none could dominate by institutionalis- ing non-domination through a principle of mutuality and dynamic equili- brium. This complex, three-dimensional balance of power, an equilibrium (however asymmetrical and contingent) would then be the manifestation of justice for that time, just as so many believe that the liberal hegemony is the pinnacle of justice for our own, while many more disagree. Contestation is not only legitimate, but vital, both in the normative sense and in the sense that it vitalises society. Because force plays such a central role to this process (as it does to all processes), the final shape of society both can and cannot be anticipated. We must still be diligent students and critics of power in all its forms in order to understand global order, and also, by ascertaining where the greatest force lies, we can understand the structuring power of collective force and reason in the immediate future. By balancing relations of force with counter-forces, and rationalising this new equilibrium 162 Anarchy is what we make of it according to novel systems of collective reason, justice and order emerges in anarchy. But should this development of force suggest new and pernicious forms of domination then it is perfectly legitimate to counter it. Anything less is the abdication of one’s will, and the abandonment of the moral autonomy of the groups which shaped us, to the dominating tendencies of the stronger. This balance of power is infinitely more complex than standard theories in IR would have us believe. From this republican perspective power balancing is three-dimensional, within, across and between matrixes of social groups. As realists and neoliberal institutionalists have shown, there is nothing in this anarchy per se that assumes conflict cannot be avoided or managed. While the anarchists have spent centuries developing elaborate schemas for dealing with disorder and injustice in anarchy, so too have statesmen and diplomats. However, if we conceptualise anarchy from Proudhon’s perspective, if anarchy is the underlying constitutive structure of history and society, we all structure our lives in anarchy on a daily basis.2 It is not only where people are abandoned to their fates that anarchy rules, but also where our fates are structured for us and where people actively avoid the structuring forces of the powers they face.3 This is not to say that anything is possible as long as we try hard enough, but it does mean that a whole lot more is possible than we have been led to believe by the dominant neoliberal discourse. Essentially, we need to move the IR debate about anarchy away from thinking about ‘the international’ and towards thinking about politics as such. The conclusions I am sketching here suggest nothing less than a funda- mental reorientation of IR theory as an academic practice. Anarchy is, or should I say ought to be, the constitutive problematique of political science more broadly. If this were to take place, IR would be uniquely positioned to step in to help theorise order in anarchy, and anarchism would have a strong claim to be the new realism. The normative aspect of this theory would be to refocus on the domina- tion at the heart of liberal property relations and modern statism that structure global order. Proudhon argued that modern socialism had demonstrated that the emergent collective force of the nineteenth century was labour. Labour movements, like nationalism, had the potential to unsettle the European equilibrium with disastrous consequences unless the constitutional recognition of society’s plural groups was enacted as the logical extension of the republican impulse. If suffrage was to be meaningful and reflect the emergent balance of power in society, it was here that direct democracy ought to be located. Nationalism, by contrast, was a simple fallacy. By Proudhon’s analysis, liberal property relations, like national- statism, were based on the forced alienation and the expropriation of ‘collective force’. Surplus arose from collective endeavour. By paying each individual worker less than the true value of the labour, for work that is only productive of profit because of collective endeavour, the capitalist  Anarchy is what we make of it 163 expropriates the resulting surplus. Industrial feudalism was the correlative of the legitimised domination of society by bourgeois political elites. Proudhon’s anarchism was thus a realistic engagement with the forces unleashed by the emergence of the modern era. His preferred federative social order would institutionalise the real and plural social and economic cleavages of any geographical area in a multitude of overlapping ways, but always with the individual and the natural social group at its normative heart. The ‘federative principle’, he believed, would be dynamic enough to accommodate the natural internal changes of a society and strong enough to hold society’s groups together in the face of ‘external’ challenges or shocks. Diversity, difference and conflict were at the heart of his social theory. What my account of Proudhon’s theory of justice has also tried to show is that it is impossible to separate justice from force. This is not to then argue that justice is simply the will of the stronger, but rather that norms of justice without force would be impotent, and the contrary barbaric. Proudhon’s social ontology presupposed the asymmetry and complex multi- dimensionality of forces. It presupposed that conflict was at the heart of social order and would remain so. Like his contemporaries, Proudhon looked to war to provide him with the most obvious case study to demon- strate his theory. Like his contemporaries, Proudhon argued that war was the primary motor of social change, that preparing for it, financing it and waging it was what had given birth to the modern state. Moreover, by seeing war as a social process, one riddled with moral norms and procedures, etiquette and institutionalisation, eulogies and declamations alike, Proudhon was able to show that war was a manifestation of the whole of our natures and understanding war was the key to understanding civilisation itself. Is this the age of anarchism? The purpose of rearticulating the historical context for Proudhon’s anarchism was to show that we are today dealing with the inverse of the processes Proudhon did. While he lamented the unification, centralisation and domination of society by states, we are witnessing the partial and incomplete unravelling of this process. This difference should give us some- thing to think about as we look to shape strategies for the future, and Proudhon and the classical anarchists more broadly are potentially useful guides. Chapter two sought to demonstrate that what preoccupied Proudhon from 1858 to his death were the doctrines of revolutionary nationalism, political unity and the militarisation of the state – those processes we are trying to think beyond. He believed that if tendencies continued in their then current fashion, only negative consequences could follow; consequences that would be fundamentally illiberal, and anti-republican. What was uniquely original about Proudhon’s writings was the extent to which international relations featured in his writings. What pitched him against his republican 164 Anarchy is what we make of it compatriots was the belief that the unsettling of the post-1815 European balance of power would pitch Europe into certain conflict. By siding with those who defended anarchy, Proudhon was positioning himself against the main radical currents of his time. The unification of Italy and Poland, Proudhon argued, would plunge Europe into certain conflict because it would exacerbate the international anarchy rather than lessen it. Poland would offer an irresistible temptation to one or other local power and the projects of the republicans were doomed to failure. Italy, on the other hand, would demand authoritarianism in order to bring a radically disparate constellation of local particularities under the rule of one state. In both cases, Proudhon argued, the cause of the proletariat was doomed if unity was the principal object, and the fate of the European working class as a whole was doomed if this tendency was replicated elsewhere, with the likely effect that Europe would be plunged into the most heavily industrialised and barbaric war in human history. Proudhon advocated a pragmatic approach to European federalism, arguing that the left should have supported the treaty of Villafranca and federalism more broadly, and that Switzerland offered the best alternative model to the drive for national unity, which, he argued in relation to Poland and Italy, was a contradiction in terms anyway. No one listened and those that did rebuked him. As it transpired Proudhon was both right and wrong. Proudhon did not fully appreciate how great a threat a united Germany would present to the European equilibrium. The industrialisation of the military and the co-opting of nationalist movements by Bismarck, Cavour and Napoleon III gave the predominant European states both the material means, the per- sonnel and the ideological justification for the imperial wars which followed. What needs to be recalled here is that the rise of Prussia was modelled on the Bonapartist experience, but because of widespread European conceptions that Prussia was harmless – even progressive – no one took much notice. Proudhon was practically alone in his approach to the problems of his times and the solutions he proposed. On the whole, the French left supported French imperial ambitions and some campaigned for war with England (which, presumably, France would win) as the only solution to Europe’s problems. Karl Marx had different ambitions to these, but framed the issue in much the same way. On the eve of the Franco-Prussian war, five years after Proudhon’s death, he argued: The French need a thrashing. If the Prussians win, then centralisation of State power will help the centralization the German working-class. German preponderance, moreover, will shift the centre of gravity of the working-class movement of Western Europe from France to Germany [… which would mean the] preponderance of our theory over those of Proudhon, etc.4  Anarchy is what we make of it 165 Marx was largely right. That is what happened. But Bismarck, like Cavour before him, blind-sided the left and skilfully outwitted them. The Prussian state modelled itself on the Napoleonic myth and the German revolutionary tradition followed the Jacobins. As it had been with la Grande Armée, statism was sustained by a messianic approach to the citizen-military, while the glory of science and progress were tied to the realisation of a primordial volk. Nationalism was not the only blind-spot of the European left, as so many have argued: so was the rise of the modern state. Proudhon stood practically alone in his assessment of this trajectory. The reasons for this lie in the intellectual hegemony of enlightenment rationalism. Chapter three set this tendency out. This chapter also set out what were the most obvious objections to anarchism. I began with Rousseau, as did most revolutionary praxis. His ideas animated the revolu- tionaries, including Proudhon, and justified a new social order based on limited male suffrage, the homogenisation of the social order and the alienation of political power. His ideas produced the doctrines of national unity which were to exacerbate the European international anarchy. His ideas filtered through Robespierre, Kant, Saint-Simon and Comte into the intellectual waters of the French and European left. His call for revolution against the absolutist monarchies of the day, in the name of universal republican federalism, was to galvanise 200 years of war. Anarchy was the scourge; unity and order the key to justice. Some 30 years later, while bearing witness to the Terror unleashed by the Revolution, Kant tried bringing perpetual peace to Europe. He began by rejecting Rousseau’s foundations, but he accepted his general political arguments. His advance was to limit the ideal federation and protect the autonomy of states, suggesting that any further cosmopolitan order would be among rationally enlightened individuals, not peoples. Napoleonic war was providential because it exported the republican system, and war was preferable to Rousseau’s licensing of revolution because not only was it the prerogative of the state, rather than the people, to declare war, but also because war’s folly would ultimately educate. Perpetual peace would emerge at history’s end. Anarchy was what history was slowly overcoming. Writing in the aftermath of this first Republican Imperial period, an era wherein the Congress of Vienna seemed to have stabilised inter-state relations, and the new theocrats dominated intellectual debate, Comte argued that the time had come to order European republics once and for all. Rousseau had to be rejected, Kant bettered. The historical providence of positivism led Comte to believe that the scientists, or Men of Genius, industrialists and the new bourgeoisie, the new vanguard of history, ought to be given the role of establishing the dictates of the Religion of Humanity to which all ought to bow because of the force of rational argument and the self-evident proofs of science. Comte’s work, building on and influencing the formulation of the epochal doctrines of Saint-Simon, came to legitimise the technocratic and industrialised bourgeois order in France and ultimately 166 Anarchy is what we make of it its extension to the rest of the world. It praised the materialism of industrial society and saw in the development of ever more destructive weaponry a source of our historical providence by keeping people apart. The perfec- tion of the science of social administration would leave nothing to chance. Understanding the true workings of the social organism would mean that free will would be redundant. Science would govern and anarchy would be erased once and for all. Despite their authoritarianism, Rousseau, Kant and Comte also made profound contributions to understanding our human condition. These con- tributions, insofar as they influenced Proudhon, were plural. Following Rousseau, Proudhon also believed that taking our passions and our feelings seriously were vital to a republican humanist theory of morality. Proudhon’s use of Comte’s analysis of relations and the reality of social forces allowed him to show how material and rational orders ossified over time. His three- stage philosophy of history gave shape and method to Proudhon’s too. Kant provided Proudhon, and most that followed him, with a vocabulary of rights, a conception of the moral autonomy of the individual that could counter the stifling communism of Comte and the Jacobins. But by developing Rousseau and Comte, Proudhon came to reject Kant’s idealist philosophical foundations. For political reasons, he also rejected the determinism of each of their philosophies of history and the universalism of their philosophy of right. It is here that anarchism was born: in the rejection of the providentialist telos of freedom articulated at the birth of the modern period. With the collapse of the imperial order in the first half of the twentieth century the chaos that threatened galvanised a new breed of theorists to once again propose a loose League of Nations to stabilise and regulate the interactions of states, to force them to pool and rescind their sovereignty and submit to a universal system of law and moral persuasion. Like Proudhon before him, E. H. Carr saw such a system to be the manifestation of liberal power and manifestly ignorant of the rising powers of Germany and then, later, Soviet Russia. With the collapse of this order in 1939, anarchy re-emerged as the answer to the problem of an imperial order, delineating zones of influence and ensuring non-aggression in the context of nuclear stalemate. The autonomy of states was preferable to the universal dominium proposed by the fascists and later the communists. But few took this rationale one step further. If anarchy was a bulwark against fascism and totalitarianism, why could it not also act as a central principle in the rede- sign of republican political orders in the liberal West and act as a template for the liberation of the subject peoples of these very same states the world over? Clearly, as the battles over the civil rights of America’s black popula- tion demonstrated, the established order was not willing to rescind power to the people. As war raged in Vietnam and the threat of nuclear Armageddon gave rise to new coalitions on the left, the template for the radical transfor- mation of political community remained statist and nationalist.  Anarchy is what we make of it 167 With the end of the Cold War, the traditional left was bereft of ideas. Slowly people came to realise that the dark side of modernity was the con- sequence of its most exalted achievements in industry, technocracy, social engineering and the domination of nature. These contradictions were slowly thought through against the backdrop of the war-less collapse of bipolarity, the extension of US imperial power through cultural and economic as well as military means, and the transformation of political community in Europe and elsewhere. But as the old left petered out, the new left constituted in this neoliberal moment was increasingly anarchist. Rejecting state and capital, and the plural regimes of domination in modern society, as well as refusing the vanguardist politics and tight centralised command, the new anarchists seemed to come out of nowhere. 1989 had been heralded the end of history, so why were the anarchists back? The so-called battle for Seattle in 1999 witnessed the re-effervescence of forgotten ideas and practices in which autonomy and control over our own livelihoods was as important as protecting the ability of others to do the same. Anarchy was revived amongst the counter-hegemonic social movements as the means to realising autonomy and justice without imposing a new system of domination on others in turn. And this was done at precisely the time when the neoliberal order reigns supreme. What is clear is that today’s militants are refusing the politics that so spectacularly failed in the twentieth century, despite numerous social democracies and communist states trying their level best to institutionalise a transcendent socialist utopia. What precipitated the re-emergence of anarchism in the 1990s was also arguably the epistemological collapse that took place in parallel to the collapse of collective force at the end of the Cold War. At precisely the point at which liberalism had come to reign supreme, poststructuralists, breaking cleanly from the modernist tradition from which they sprang, proclaimed the modern political subject that had sustained liberalism and its critics for so long, to be dead. If that was the case, then the state, assumed to be the kindergarten of our rational development was also finished. Poststructuralist accounts illuminated that subjectivity was produced in context rather than given in time. The consequence, of course, is that there is now no longer any stable grounds for transcendent claims to justice or order. What the poststructuralists failed to do was articulate a political alternative that could guide strategy. Anarchism stepped into this space. The aim of this book has been to widen the historical memory of anarchist theory and to show the challenges it poses and the use it may have for contemporary inter- national political theory. Only time will tell if this is the age of anarchism. Notes 1 Retrieving Proudhon 1 Uri Gordon, Anarchy Alive! Anti-Authoritarian Politics from Practice to Theory (London: Pluto Press, 2008), p. 34. 2 Thomas O. Hueglin, ‘Yet the Age of Anarchism?’ Publius 15, no. 2 (1985): 101–12. 3 See, for example, Benedict R. Anderson, Under Three Flags: Anarchism and the Anti-Colonial Imagination (London: Verso, 2005); Laurence Davis and Ruth Kinna, Anarchism and Utopianism (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2009); Barbara Epstein, ‘Anarchism and the Anti-Globalisation Movement’, Monthly Review 53, no. 4 (2001): 1–14; Benjamin Franks, Rebel Alliances: The Means and Ends of Contemporary British Anarchisms (Edinburgh: AK Press, 2006); James Horrox, A Living Revolution: Anarchism in the Kibbutz Move- ment (Oakland, CA; Edinburgh: AK Press, 2009); David Graeber, ‘The New Anarchists’, New Left Review 13 (2002): 61–73; David Graeber, Possibilities: Essays on Hierarchy, Rebellion and Desire (Edinburgh: AK Press, 2007); Nathan J. Jun and Shane Wahl, New Perspectives on Anarchism (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2010); Ruth Kinna, Anarchism: A Beginner’s Guide (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2005); Todd May, The Political Philosophy of Poststructuralist Anarchism (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994); Isy Morgenmuffel, Mike Home Brew and Ed Monkey, Another Dinner Is Possible! More Than Just a Vegan Cookbook – Recipes and Food for Thought, 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: AK Press, 2009); Jon Purkis and James Bowen, Changing Anarchism: Anarchist Theory and Practice in a Global Age (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004); Carne Ross, The Leaderless Revolution: How Ordinary People Will Take Power and Change Politics in the Twenty-First Century (New York: Blue Rider Press, 2011); Lucien Van der Walt and Michael Schmidt, Black Flame: The Revolutionary Class Politics of Anarchism and Syndicalism (Edinburgh; Oakland: AK Press, 2009); Colin Ward, Anarchism: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 4 Gordon, Anarchy Alive!, p. 34. 5 Brian C. Schmidt, The Political Discourse of Anarchy: A Disciplinary History of International Relations (New York: State University of New York Press, 1998). 6 Ibid., p. 89. 7 For more on this, see Uri Gordon, ‘Aναρχία – What Did the Greeks Actually Say?’ Anarchist Studies 14, no. 1 (2006): 84–91. 8 Martin Wight, ‘Why Is There No International Theory?’ in Herbert Butterfield and Martin Wight (eds), Diplomatic Investigations: Essays in the Theory of International Politics (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1966), pp. 17–34.  Notes 169 9 Ibid., p. 33. 10 Ibid., p. 20. 11 See, for example, Lucien M. Ashworth, ‘Where Are the Idealists in Interwar International Relations?’ Review of International Studies 32, no. 2 (2006): 291–308; Lucian M. Ashworth, Creating International Studies: Angell, Mitrany and Liberal Tradition (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999); Duncan S. A. Bell, ‘Inter- national Relations: The Dawn of a Historiographical Turn?’ British Journal of Politics and International Relations 3, no. 1 (2001): 115–26; Duncan S. A. Bell, ‘Political Theory and the Functions of Intellectual History: A Response to Emmanuel Navon’, Review of International Studies 29, no. 1 (2003): 151–60; Chris Brown, Terry Nardin and N. J. Rengger, International Relations in Political Thought: Texts from the Ancient Greeks to the First World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Gerard Holden, ‘Who Con- textualises the Contextualisers? Disciplinary History and the Discourse About IR Discourse’, Review of International Studies 28, no. 2 (2002): 253–70; Edward Keene, Beyond the Anarchical Society: Grotius, Colonialism and Order in World Politics, LSE Monographs in International Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Edward Keene, International Political Thought: A His- torical Introduction (Cambridge, UK; Malden, Mass.: Polity, 2005); David Long and Brian C. Schmidt, Imperialism and Internationalism in the Discipline of International Relations, SUNY Series in Global Politics (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 2005); David Long and Peter Wilson, Thinkers of the ‘Twenty Years’ Crisis’ Revisited: Inter-War Idealism Reassessed (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995); Ido Oren, Our Enemies and US: America’s Rivalries and the Making of Political Science (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2003); Robbie Shilliam, German Thought and International Relations: The Rise and Fall of a Liberal Project (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009). 12 See, for example, Charles Beitz, ‘Bounded Morality: Justice and the State in World Politics’, International Organisation 33, no. 1 (1979): 404–24; Charles R. Beitz, Political Theory and International Relations (Princeton; Guildford: Princeton University Press, 1979); Duncan S. A. Bell (ed.), Ethics and World Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); Andrew Linklater, ‘The Evolving Spheres of International Justice’, International Affairs 75, no. 3 (1999): 473–82; Rama Mani, Beyond Retribution: Seeking Justice in the Shadows of War (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2002); Terry Nardin, ‘International Political Theory and the Question of Justice’, International Affairs 82, no. 3 (2006): 449–65; Onora O’Neill, ‘Bounded and Cosmopolitan Justice’, Review of Inter- national Studies 26, no. 5 (2000): 45–60; Thomas Pogge, ‘The Priorities of Global Justice’, Metaphilosophy 32, no. 2 (2001): 6–24; Richard Shapcott, International Ethics: A Critical Introduction (Cambridge, UK; Malden, Mass.: Polity, 2010); Michael Walzer, Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations, 2nd ed. (London: BasicBooks, 1992). 13 For a short overview of the existing literature, see Alex Prichard, ‘Introduction: Anarchism and World Politics’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies 39, no. 2 (2010): 373–80. 14 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, De la Capacité Politique des Classes Ouvrières (Paris, E. Dentu: 1865) [Gallica], p. 182. A short bibliographic note: The standard collection of Proudhon’s writings is the Marcel Rivière edition, published in Paris between 1923 and 1959 (18 vols). The volumes in this edition have extensive contextual introductions and superseded the Lacroix collected works, published in Paris between 1867 and 1870, which comprised 26 volumes. Proudhon’s correspondence was published as Correspondance de P-J Proudhon (Paris: A. Lacroix, 1875) and spans 14 volumes. Proudhon’s notebooks continue to be published, but the definitive edition remains, Pierre Haubtman (ed.), 170 Notes Carnets de Proudhon (Paris: Marcel Rivière, 1960), 3 vols. Some 65 volumes, including various pamphlets, newspaper articles and individual volumes from the various collected works, are freely available electronically at the Bibliotèque Nationale de France website: www.gallica.bnf.fr. These texts are all fully text- searchable. I have chosen to refer to these editions where possible, and have marked them ‘[Gallica]’. 15 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, What Is Property? Or, an Inquiry into the Principle of Right and of Government. Translated by Donald R. Kelley and Bonnie G. Smith (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 209. 16 Proudhon, De la Capacité Politique, p. 446. Gustave Chaudey was at Proud- hon’s bedside taking down Proudhon’s words during his final days and was responsible for the final edit and publication of this work. 17 This book does not discuss Proudhon’s biography in any significant way. Most of the other existing works on Proudhon in the English language do this. Woodcock’s Pierre-Joseph Proudhon: A biography (London: Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1956) is perhaps the best general biography in the English language. For a detailed contextualist account of Proudhon’s early intellectual development and how it related to his federative theory, see Steven Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon and the Rise of French Republican Socialism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984). A more general discussion of Proudhon’s ideas is Robert Hoffman, Revolutionary Justice: The Social and Political Theory of P.-J. Proudhon (London: University of Illinois Press, 1972). This text has an extensive and detailed bibliography detailing all of Proudhon’s publications and the vast majority of secondary literature on Proudhon’s life and ideas then extant – an invaluable resource in its own right. The standard text on Proudhon’s thought in any language is, of course, Pierre Haubtmann’s three-volume magnum opus, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Sa vie et sa pensée (1809–1849) (Paris: Beauchesne, 1982), Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Sa vie et sa pensée (1849–1855) (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1987) and Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Sa vie et sa pensée (1855–1865) (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1987). The three volumes combined come in at just over 2,000 pages and collect Haubtmann’s writings on Proudhon over the previous two decades into one giant compendium. They detail almost every day of Proudhon’s adult life and discuss the intellectual content of all of his major writings. They are unlikely to be surpassed in breadth or depth. A very good, recently published general introduction to Proudhon’s life and ideas is Anne-Sophie Chambost’s Proudhon: l’enfant terrible du socialism (Paris: Armand Colin, 2009). 18 For more on the complexities of this debate, see, for example, Richard Falk, ‘Anarchism without “Anarchism”: Searching for Progressive Politics in the Early 21st Century’, Millennium – Journal of International Studies 39, no. 2 (2010): 381–98. 19 Richard Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and the International Order from Grotius to Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 20 Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan. Edited by Richard Tuck (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 90. 21 Ibid. 22 International political theory provides the theoretical apparatus to reconnect IR with the traditions of political theory. As Brown argues, international political theorists also subscribe to the notion that ‘“international relations” is not sui generis, an activity that is so different from other areas of social life that it requires the development of patterns of thought specific to its particular circumstances’, Chris Brown, Sovereignty, Rights and Justice: International Political Theory Today (Cambridge: Polity, 2002), p. 14.  Notes 171 23 Three high-profile panels at the 2012 International Studies Association annual convention in San Diego were entitled ‘The End of IR Theory?’ Kim Hutchings’ contribution touched on these themes. 24 Two pieces that come close to this line of argument without exploring the full implications are Ken Booth, ‘Security in Anarchy: Utopian Realism in Theory and Practice’, International Affairs 67, no. 3 (1991): 527–45; and Michael Sheehan, ‘Community, Anarchy and Critical Security’. Paper presented at the ‘Redefining Security’, ECPR Joint Session Workshop, Manheim, 26–31 March 1999. The former is discussed in more detail in the following chapter. 25 Quentin Skinner, Liberty Before Liberalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 116. 26 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, De la Creation de l’ordre dans l’Humanité, Ou Principes d’Organisation Politique (Paris: Garnier, 1849). Proudhon, Pierre- Joseph, Système des Contradictions Économiques, ou la Philosophie de la Misère (Paris: Guillaumin, 1846). 27 For more on this and the controversy amongst Tolstoy scholars on this issue, see Ronald Victor Sampson, Tolstoy, the Discovery of Peace (London: Heinemann, 1973); Boris Eikhenbaum, Tolstoy in the Sixties. Translated by Duffield White (Michigan: Ardis, 1982), pp. 175–94; A. N. Wilson, Tolstoy (London: Hamilton, 1988), pp. 164–65; Ernest J. Simmons, Leo Tolstoy (London: John Lehmann, 1949), pp. 182, 214, 304–5; Aylmer Maude, The Life of Tolstoy: First Fifty Years, 2nd ed. (London: Constable, 1908), p. 211. 28 On Proudhon’s posthumous influence see, for example, Maria Fitzpatrick, ‘Proudhon and the French Labour Movement: The Problem of Proudhon’s Prominence’, European History Quarterly 15, no. 4 (1985): 407–30; Pierre Ansart, ‘La Présence du Proudhonisme dans les Sociologies Contemporaines’, Mil Neuf Cent: Revue d’Histoire Intellectuelle 10 (1992): 94–110; Alex Prichard, ‘What Can the Absence of Anarchism Tell Us About the History and Purpose of International Relations?’ Review of International Studies 37, no. 4 (2011): 1647–69. 29 Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 204. 30 Proudhon’s manuscript on Poland and a number of other texts are due to be edited by Vincent Bourdeau, Edward Castleton, Ludovic Frobert and published in a collection of previously unpublished works. 31 E. H. Carr, ‘Proudhon: The Robinson Crusoe of Socialism’, in E. H. Carr (ed.), Studies in Revolution (London: Macmillan, 1950), pp. 48, 55, 46, 52, 40. 32 Ibid., p. 40. While Proudhon was no fascist, he was vociferously anti-feminist. Both were typical of his time, but Proudhon’s anti-feminism was directed largely at men, the majority of feminists at that time. His diatribe against one of the most famous female feminists of his time, Jenny d’Herricourt, in La Pornocratie, ou les femmes dans les temps moderns (Paris: A. Lacroix 1875) [Gallica], was begun in 1863, never finished and only published posthumously. How this text fits in his wider oeuvre has never been given the critical attention it deserves, but it is routinely used to discredit his thought in general. See, for example, Sudhir Hazareesingh, Intellectual Founders of the Republic: Five Studies in Nineteenth-Century French Political Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 146, 216, 290. On Proudhon’s anti-Semitism see J. Salwyn Schapiro, ‘Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Harbinger of Fascism’, The American Historical Review 50, no. 4 (1945): 714–37; Robert S. Wistrich, ‘Radical Antisemitism in France and Germany (1840–1880)’, Modern Judaism 15, no. 2 (1995): 109–35. 33 Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace, brief ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1993), p. 35. 34 Ibid., p. 42. 172 Notes 35 Ibid., p. 41. 36 Hoffman, Revolutionary Justice, p. 261. 37 Carr, ‘Proudhon’, p. 40. Other French writers that focus on the historical and intellectual development of Proudhon’s thought include: Georges Guy-Grand, Pour connaitre la Pensé de Proudhon (Paris: Bordas, 1947); Daniel Halévy and Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, La vie de Proudhon (Paris: Stock, 1948); Édouard Dolléans, Proudhon (Paris: Gallimard, 1948); Philippe Riviale, Proud- hon: La Justice, Contre Le Souverain. Tentative d’Examen d’Une Théorie de la Justice Fondée sur l’Équilibre Économique (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2003); Édouard Jourdain, Proudhon, Dieu et la Guerre: Une Philosophie du Combat (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2006). 38 Madeleine Amoudruz, Proudhon et l’Europe. Les Ideés de Proudhon en Politique Étrangère (Paris: Éditions Domat Montchrestien, 1945), p. 151. For an interesting piece on the value of Proudhon’s works on federalism and European politics for thinking about the place of Wales in a regional Europe, see Ioan Bowen Rees, ‘Ffedraliaeth Proudhon Ac Ewrop Heddiw’, in Ioan Bowen Rees (ed.), Cymuned a Chenedl: Ysgrifau Ar Ymreolaeth (Llandysul: Gomer, 1993), pp. 145–83. 39 Alan Ritter, The Political Thought of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), p. 26. 40 See for example, David Boucher, Political Theories of International Relations: From Thucydides to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998); Brown et al., International Relations in Political Thought; Howard Williams, International Relations in Political Theory (Milton Keynes: Open University Press, 1992). 41 Ritter, The Political Thought of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 146. 42 A brief note on the methodology pursued in this book. I have chosen to contextualise Proudhon’s writings and provide a descriptive exegesis of them, and to use this exegesis to unsettle standard conceptions of anarchy in IR. Rather than start with a problem to which Proudhon must then contribute, a process which would likely result in forcing Proudhon’s thought into categories it was never intended to fit into, I have chosen to use Proudhon to show us why it is we think in this way in the first place. This method has the dual benefit of avoiding anachronism and historicising contemporary theory. Two examples of the drawbacks of rephrasing Proudhon in the language of contemporary concerns include Alan Ritter’s The Political Thought of Pierre- Joseph Proudhon, which will tell you more about the strictures of post-War Anglo-American analytical political theory than it will about Proudhon’s ideas, and John Ehrenberg’s Proudhon and His Age (New Jersey: Humanities Press, 1996). Vincent has argued that the latter will tell you more about Second International Marxism and its concerns than it will about the specifics of Proudhon’s political theory. See K. Steven Vincent, ‘Review of John Ehrenberg’s Proudhon and His Age’, American Historical Review 102, no. 4 (1997): 1173–74. For more on the contextualist method see David Runciman, ‘History of Political Thought: The State of the Discipline’, British Journal of Politics and International Relations 3, no. 1 (2001): 84–104; Skinner, Liberty before Liberal- ism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Quentin Skinner, ‘Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas (1969)’, in James Tully (ed.), Mean- ing and Context: Quentin Skinner and His Critics (Cambridge: Polity, 1988), pp. 29–67; Quentin Skinner, Visions of Politics Volume 1: Regarding Method (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); James Tully (ed.), Meaning and Context: Quentin Skinner and His Critics (Cambridge: Polity, 1988). 43 See, for example, Alexander Anievas, Marxism and World Politics: Contesting Global Capitalism (London: Routledge, 2009); J. Ann Tickner, Gender in  Notes 173 International Relations: Feminist Perspectives on Achieving Global Security (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992); Naeem Inayatullah and David L. Blaney, International Relations and the Problem of Difference (New York: Routledge, 2004). 44 Andrew Linklater, ‘The Question of the Next Stage in International Relations Theory: A Critical-Theoretical Point of View’, Millennium: Journal of Inter- national Studies 21, no. 1 (1992): 77–98. 45 See also, Zygmunt Bauman, Modernity and the Holocaust (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989); Theodor W. Adorno and Max Horkheimer, Dialectic of Enlightenment, 2nd ed. (London: Verso, 1986). 46 The nineteenth century is, surprisingly, under-examined by IR scholars and particularly its theorists. This book should therefore contribute to work under- taken by Buzan and Lawson to rectify this. See, Barry Buzan and George Lawson, ‘The Global Transformation: The 19th Century and the Making of Modern International Relations’, International Studies Quarterly (forthcoming). 47 See, for example, Nicholas Greenwood Onuf, The Republican Legacy in Inter- national Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Daniel Deudney, Bounding Power: Republican Security Theory from the Polis to the Global Village (Princeton, N.J.; Woodstock: Princeton University Press, 2007); Philip Pettit, ‘A Republican Law of Peoples’, European Journal of Political Theory 9, no. 1 (2010): 70–94; Cécile Laborde, ‘Republicanism and Global Justice’, European Journal of Political Theory 9, no. 1 (2010): 48–69; James Bohman, ‘Nondomination and Transnational Democracy’, in Cécile Laborde and John Maynor (eds), Republicanism and Political Theory (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008), 190–216; Peter Haldén, ‘Republican Continuities in the Vienna Order and the German Confederation 1815–1866’, European Journal of International Relations (forthcoming); Peter Haldén, Stability without Statehood: Lessons from Europe’s History Before the Sovereign State (Houndmills, Basingstoke Hampshire; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). 48 The literature on this subject is vast. The standard reference is Philip Pettit, Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997). See also, John P. McCormick, Machiavellian Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). For a good collection of essays see Cécile Laborde and John W. Maynor, Republicanism and Political Theory (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008). 49 Proudhon, What is Property? pp. 204–5. 50 Richard Vernon, Citizenship and Order: Studies in French Political Thought (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1986), p. 66. 51 Cited in Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 143. Capitals in original. 52 Ibid., pp. 3–4. 53 Ibid., pp. 318, 225. 54 Gordon, Anarchy Alive, p. 33. 55 Richard K. Ashley, ‘Untying the Sovereign State: A Double Reading of the Anarchy Problematique’, Millennium 17, no. 2 (1988): 227–62. 56 Volker R. Berghahn, Militarism: The History of an Intellectual Debate 1861–1971 (Leamington Spa: Berg Publishers, 1981), p. 1. 2 Anarchy and contemporary IR theory 1 Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics (London: Macmillan, 1977). 2 Martin Wight, International Theory: The Three Traditions (Leicester: Leicester University Press for the Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1991). 3 Skinner, ‘Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas’, p. 36. 174 Notes 4 Skinner, Liberty Before Liberalism, p. 116. 5 See, for example, Andrew Hurrell, ‘Order and Justice in International Relations: What Is at Stake’, in Rosemary Foot, John Gaddis and Andrew Hurrell (eds), Order and Justice in International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 24–48. 6 I avoid the use and discussion of the term sovereignty intentionally. As Carr argued just before the onset of the global rejection of the norm, ‘One prediction may be made with some confidence. The concept of sovereignty is likely to become in the future even more blurred and indistinct than it is at present [ … ] It was never more than a convenient label.’ Edward Hallett Carr, The Twenty Years Crisis, 1919–1939: An Introduction to the Study of International Relations (London: The Macmillan Press Ltd and Papermac, 1981), p. 230. Not only did events prove him right, but so too has the subsequent outpouring of academic writing on the subject rendered it less clear what sovereignty entails. Carr was developing a position that was well established by Harold Laski. See Harold J. Laski, Authority in the Modern State (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1919) and Harold J. Laski, ‘The Pluralistic State’, The Philosophical Review 28, no. 6 (1919): 562–75. 7 For a selection of the writings of Edmund Burke and Freidrich Von Gentz, see Brown et al., International Relations in Political Thought, pp. 292–300, 307–10. 8 See Schmidt, The Political Discourse of Anarchy, chapter 5. 9 Stanley Hoffmann, ‘An American Social Science: International Relations’, Daedalus 106, no. 3 (1977): 41–60. See also, Oren, Our Enemies and US. 10 See, for example, Michael W. Doyle, Ways of War and Peace: Realism, Liberalism, and Socialism (New York; London: Norton, 1997); Seán Molloy, The Hidden History of Realism: A Genealogy of Power Politics (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006); Michael C. Williams, The Realist Tradition and the Limits of International Relations, Cambridge Studies in International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 11 See Paul W. Schroeder, ‘Did the Vienna Settlement Rest on a Balance of Power?’ The American Historical Review 97, no. 3 (1992): 683–706; Paul W. Schroeder, ‘Historical Reality Vs. Neo-Realist Theory’, International Security 19, no. 1 (1994): 108–48; Paul W. Schroeder, ‘The Nineteenth Century System: Balance of Power or Political Equilibrium?’ Review of International Studies 15, special issue no. 2 (1989): 135–53; Paul. W. Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics 1763–1848 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). 12 Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (Reading, Mass.; London: Addison-Wesley, 1979), p. 88. 13 Ibid., p. 89. 14 For more on this see Oren, Our Enemies and US, chapter 4. 15 Wight, ‘Why Is There No International Theory?’. 16 Waltz, Theory of International Politics, pp. 111–14. 17 See Bull, Anarchical Society, p. 100. 18 Ibid., pp. 4, 7. 19 Ibid., p. 7. 20 Ibid., p. 47. For more on this see Hideimi Suganami, The Domestic Analogy and World Order Proposals (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). Cf. Chiara Bottici, Men and States: Rethinking the Domestic Analogy in a Global Age (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009). 21 Ibid., p. 305. 22 Mervyn Frost, Global Ethics: Anarchy, Freedom and International Relations (London: Routledge, 2009), pp. 83–89. 23 Ibid., p. 63.  Notes 175 24 For a good discussion of the evolution of liberal thought and its future, see G. John Ikenberry, ‘Liberal Internationalism 3.0: America and the Dilemmas of Liberal World Order’, Perspectives on Politics 7, no. 1 (2009): 71–87. 25 Robert Axelrod and Robert O. Keohane, ‘Achieving Cooperation under Anarchy: Strategies and Institutions’, World Politics 38, no. 1 (1985): 226–54; Robert O. Keohane, After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). 26 See also R. O. Keohane and J. S. Nye, Power and Interdependence: World Politics in Transition (New York: Little Brown, 1977). 27 Robert O. Keohane, Neorealism and its Critics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986). 28 Philip G. Cerny, ‘Globalization and the Changing Logic of Collective Action’, International Organization 49, no. 4 (1995): 595–625; Philip G. Cerny, ‘Globa- lization and the Erosion of Democracy’, European Journal of Political Research 36, no. 1 (1999): 1–26; Philip G. Cerny, ‘Paradoxes of the Competition State: The Dynamics of Political Globalization’, Government and Opposition 32, no. 2 (1997): 251–74; Gary Marks, Lisebet Hooghe and Kermit Blank, ‘European Integration from the 1980s: State-Centric V. Multi-Level Governance’, Journal of Common Market Studies 34, no. 3 (1996): 341–74; Andrew Linklater, ‘Citizenship and Sovereignty in the Post-Westphalian European State’, in D. Archibugi, D. Held and M. Köhler (eds), Re-Imagining Political Commu- nity: Studies in Cosmopolitan Democracy (Cambridge: Polity, 1998), 113–37. 29 See, Beate Jahn, ‘Universal Languages? A Reply to Moravcsik’, International Theory 2, no. 1 (2010): 140–56. 30 See, for example, Michael Doyle, ‘Kant, Liberal Legacies, and Foreign Affairs’, Philosophy and Public Affairs 12, no. 3 (1983): 205–35; Michael Doyle, ‘Kant, Liberal Legacies, and Foreign Affairs, “Part 2”’, Philosophy and Public Affairs 12, no. 4 (1983): 323–53; Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (New York: Free Press; Toronto: Maxwell Macmillan Canada, 1992); Roland Paris, At War’s End: Building Peace after Civil Conflict (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Ikenberry, ‘Liberal Internationalism 3.0’. 31 Alexander Wendt, ‘Anarchy Is What States Make of It: The Social Construction of Power Politics’, International Organization 46, no. 2 (1992): 391–425; Alexander Wendt, ‘Why a World State Is Inevitable’, European Journal of International Relations 9, no. 4 (2003): 491–542. 32 Wendt, ‘Anarchy is What States Make of It’, p. 424. 33 Deudney, Bounding Power. 34 Two recent books that extend these discussions in important ways are Haldén, Stability without Statehood and Philip G. Cerny, Rethinking World Politics: A Theory of Transnational Neopluralism (New York; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). Considerations of time and space mean it has been impossible to discuss these works here. In a future work, I intend to link republicanism, pluralism and anarchist political theory to engage the rebirth in world state theory in IR. 35 Deudney, Bounding Power, p. 48. 36 Ibid., p. 49. 37 For a discussion of Deudney’s critique of state socialism see ibid., pp. 198–202. 38 Justin Rosenberg, The Empire of Civil Society: A Critique of the Realist Theory of International Relations (London: Verso, 1994). 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid., pp. 158, 123. 41 Jurgen Habermas, Moral Consciousness and Communicative Action (Cambridge: Polity, 1990). 42 Ibid., p. 216. 176 Notes 43 Andrew Linklater, The Transformation of Political Community: Ethical Foundations of a Post-Westphalian Era (Cambridge: Polity, 1998), p. 21. For a critique see Beate Jahn, ‘One Step Forward, Two Steps Back: Critical Theory as the Latest Edition of Liberal Idealism’, Millennium – Journal of International Studies 27, no. 3 (1998): 613–41. 44 Jahn, ‘One Step Forward, Two Steps Back’. 45 Linklater, The Transformation of Political Community, p. 196. 46 For more on this see, for example, Ruth Kinna and Alex Prichard, ‘Introduc- tion’, in Alex Prichard, Ruth Kinna, David Berry and Saku Pinta (eds), Libertarian Socialism: Politics in Black and Red (Houndmills: Palgrave, 2012). 47 See, for example, Carol Cohn, ‘Sex and Death in the Rational World of Defense Intellectuals’, Signs 12, no. 4 (1987): 687–718. 48 Cynthia Enloe, Bananas, Beaches and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics (Berkley: University of California Press, 2000). 49 Cynthia Enloe, ‘Margins Silences and Bottom Rungs: How to Overcome the Underestimation of Power in the Study of International Relations’, in Steve Smith, Ken Booth and Marysia Zalewski (eds), International Theory: Positivism and Beyond (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 186. 50 Ashley, ‘Untying the Sovereign State’. 51 Ibid., p. 230. 52 See, for example, Saul Newman, ‘Crowned Anarchy: Postanarchism and International Relations Theory’, Millennium – Journal of International Studies 40, no. 2 (2012): 259–78; Saul Newman, From Bakunin to Lacan: Anti- Authoritarianism and the Dislocation of Power (London: Lexington, 2001); Saul Newman, The Politics of Postanarchism (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010); Saul Newman, ‘Postanarchism: A Politics of Anti-Politics’, Journal of Political Ideologies 16, no. 3 (2011): 313–27. 53 One of the lone exceptions is Nathan J. Jun, Anarchism and Political Modernity (London: Continuum, 2012). See also, Benjamin Franks, ‘Postanarchism: A Critical Assessment’, Journal of Political Ideologies 12, no. 2 (2007): 127–45. 54 Richard K. Ashley and R. B. J. Walker, ‘Speaking the Language of Exile: Dissident Thought in International Studies’, International Studies Quarterly 34, no. 3 (1990): 259–68. 55 James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia (New Haven, Conn.; London: Yale University Press, 2009); James C. Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed (New Haven, Conn.; London: Yale University Press, 1998). 56 Richard Falk, ‘Anarchism and World Order’, in J. Roland Pennock and John Chapman (eds), Nomos Xix: Anarchism (New York: New York University Press, 1978), pp. 63–87; Thomas G. Weiss, ‘The Tradition of Philosophical Anarchism and Future Directions in World Policy’, Journal of Peace Research 12, no. 1 (1975): 1–17. 57 Falk, ‘Anarchism and World Order’, p. 7. Cf. Falk, ‘Anarchism without “Anarchism”’. 58 Cf. Adam Goodwin, ‘Evolution and Anarchism in International Relations: The Challenge of Kropotkin’s Biological Ontology’, Millennium – Journal of International Studies 39, no. 2 (2010): 417–37. 59 Booth, ‘Security in Anarchy’, p. 540. 60 It would take pages to list Chomsky’s writings here. See, for example, Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman, The Political Economy of Human Rights, Vol. 1: The Washington Connection and Third World Fascism (Boston: South End Press, 1979); Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky, Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media (New York: Pantheon  Notes 177 Books, 2002); Noam Chomsky, Rogue States: The Rule of Force in World Affairs (London: Pluto, 2000). See also Eric Herring and Piers Robinson, ‘Forum on Chomsky’, Review of International Studies 29 (2003): 551–52. 61 For more on this see Ronald Osborn, ‘Noam Chomsky and the Realist Tradition’, Review of International Studies 35, no. 2 (2009): 351–70; Eric Herring and Piers Robinson, ‘Too Polemical or Too Critical? Chomsky on the Study of News Media and US Foreign Policy’, Review of International Studies 29, no. 4 (2003): 553–68. 62 Cited in Mark Laffey, ‘Discerning the Patterns of World Order: Noam Chomsky and International Theory after the Cold War’, Review of International Studies 29, no. 4 (2003): 587–604, here p. 599. 63 Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 3rd ed. (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1996), p. 156. 3 National unity and the nineteenth-century European equilibrium 1 Timothy Lang, ‘Lord Acton and “the Insanity of Nationality”’, Journal of the History of Ideas 63, no. 1 (2002): 129–49. 2 Otto Pflanze, ‘Nationalism in Europe, 1848–1871’, The Review of Politics 28, no. 2 (1966): 129–43, here p. 131. 3 Michael Howard, War and the Liberal Conscience: The George Macaulay Trevelyan Lectures in the University of Cambridge, 1977 (London: Temple Smith, 1978), p. 72. 4 Elie Kedourie, Nationalism, 4th ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993), p. xvi. 5 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Si Les Traités de 1815 ont cessé d’exister. Actes de futur congrès, 3rd ed. (Paris: E. Dentu, 1864) [Gallica], p. 99. 6 For more on this see Schroeder, ‘Did the Vienna Settlement Rest on a Balance of Power?’; Schroeder, ‘Historical Reality Vs. Neo-Realist Theory’; Schroeder, ‘The Nineteenth Century System’; Schroeder, The Transformation of European Politics 1763–1848; William C. Wohlforth, Richard Little, Stuart J. Kaufman, David Kang, Charles A. Jones, Victoria Tin-Bor Hui, Arthur Eckstein, Daniel Deudney and William L. Brenner, ‘Testing Balance-of-Power Theory in World History’, European Journal of International Relations 13, no. 2 (2007): 155–85. 7 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix. Recherches sur le principe et la constuitution des droits des gens (Paris: Editions Tops, 1998), Vol. I, pp. 219–20. 8 For more on this, see Deudney, Bounding Power, pp. 5–13. 9 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, et de la nécessité de reconstituer le parti de la révolution (Paris: E. Dentu, 1863) [Gallica], pp. 89, 93. For some interesting and prescient observations regarding a possible United States of Europe and the likelihood that it would be dominated by its great powers in a new ‘Holy Alliance’, see ibid., n. 1, p. 88. 10 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, p. 180. Cf. Haldén, ‘Republican Continuities’. 11 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, Vol. II, p. 101. 12 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Contradictions Politiques. Théorie du mouvement constitutionnele au XIXe Siècle (L’Empire parlementaire et l’opposition légal) (Brussels: A. Lacroix, Verboeckhoven, 1870) [Gallica], p. 3. 13 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, Vol. II, p. 180. 14 Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 247. 15 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, La Fédération et l’Unité en Italie (Paris: E. Dentu, 1862) [Gallica], pp. 74–75. 16 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, Vol. I, p. 214. See also, Denis Mack Smith, Italy: A Modern History (Ann Arbor: University Of Michigan Press, 1959), p. 1. 178 Notes 17 Proudhon’s correspondence with Joseph Ferrari is reproduced and discussed extensively in Dolléans’ Proudhon. 18 Like others, Proudhon was aware of this meeting but not of its details. See Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 169. 19 Haubtmann, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Sa vie et sa Pensée (1855–1865), p. 161. 20 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 194. 21 Norman Rich, The Age of Nationalism and Reform: 1850–1890 (London: Weinfeld and Nicholson, 1970), p. 73. 22 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, France et Rhin, 2nd ed. (Brussels: A. Lacroix, Verbockhoven, 1867) [Gallica], pp. 221–23. 23 A. J. P. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe: 1848–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), pp. 111–12. 24 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 148. 25 Cited in Haubtmann, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon. Sa vie et sa pensée (1855–1865), p. 161. 26 Proudhon, Fédération et l’unité en Italie, pp. 12–18. Proudhon notes here that a united Italy would not want a strengthened imperial France on her northern borders, or vice versa, and that this would likely spark a regional arms race. 27 Ibid., p. 30. Cf. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 115. 28 Rich, The Age of Nationalism and Reform, pp. 74–75. 29 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, pp. 73–82. 30 Ibid., pp. 83–92. 31 Smith, Italy, pp. 20–25. 32 Bruce Haddock, ‘State and Nation in Mazzini’s Political Thought’, History of Political Thought 20, no. 2 (1999): 313–36, here p. 316. 33 Ibid., p. 317. 34 Cited in Rudolf Rocker, Nationalism and Culture (Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1997), p. 425. 35 Oliver Zimmer, A Contested Nation: History, Memory and Nationalism in Switzerland, 1761–1891 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. xiii. 36 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, n. 1, pp. 72–73. 37 Ibid., pp. 237–50. 38 Otto Pflanze has argued that the national question in Germany and Italy was a distraction that blinded most revolutionaries to the plight of the people. This ignorance of social concerns meant there was little popular support for the Risorgimento, and in Germany pushed the lower classes away from liberal nationalism and over to Marxism. Pflanze, ‘Nationalism in Europe’, p. 132. 39 Proudhon, Fédération et l’Unité en Italie, p. 13. 40 Ibid., p. 25. 41 Lang, ‘Lord Acton’. 42 See, Amoudruz, Proudhon et l’Europe, p. 95. 43 Proudhon, Fédération et l’Unité en Italie, pp. 27, 28. 44 Cf. Charles Tilly, ‘War Making and State Making as Organised Crime’, in Peter B. Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer and Theda Skocpol (eds), Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 169–91. 45 Proudhon, Du Principe Federative, p. 143. 46 Smith, Italy, p. 63. 47 Ibid., p. 63. 48 Ibid., p. 12. 49 John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State, 2nd ed. (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993), p. 113. 50 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 141. 51 Ibid., p. 196. 52 Ibid., p. 216.  Notes 179 53 Proudhon, France et Rhin, p. 105. 54 Ibid., p. 104. 55 Ibid., p. 107. 56 Carr, ‘Proudhon’, p. 51. On the matter of French Algeria, Proudhon is relatively quiet. He did argue that Algeria is a lost cause and the French should never have gone in. The people will never be entirely assimilated because of the distance between the two cultures, it is too expensive a trophy to sustain and the people do not want the French there. It is purely a military occupation and ‘les conquérants d’exécrables charlatans tôt ou tard châtiés par la force dont ils abusent’. Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, Vol. I, p. 212. 57 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, Vol. I, p. 282. 58 Ibid., p. 283. 59 Ibid., p. 257. 60 Ibid., p. 289. 61 Berghahn, Militarism, p. 1. 62 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, p. 237. 63 Ibid., p. 241. 64 Ibid., p. 245. 65 Ibid., p. 224. 66 Proudhon, Si les Traités, p. 64. 67 Ibid., p. 68. 68 Proudhon, France et Rhin, p. 138. 69 Amoudruz, Proudhon et l’Europe, p. 37. 70 Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 239. 71 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 217. 72 Proudhon, Si les Traités, p. 86. 73 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, p. 175. 74 Proudhon, Si les Traités, p. 80. 75 Ibid., p. 82. 76 Ibid., cited p. 73. See also, Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, Vol. I, pp. 176–78. 77 Proudhon, Si les Traités, p. 91. 78 Aaron Noland, ‘Proudhon and Rousseau’, Journal of the History of Ideas 28, no. 1 (1967): 33–54, here p. 37. 79 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘Considerations on the Government of Poland’, in The Political Writings of Jean Jacques Rousseau, from the original manuscripts and authentic editions, with introductions and notes by C. E. Vaughan (Cambridge University Press, 1915). In 2 vols. Vol. 2, Chapter VII. Available at http://oll. libertyfund.org/?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php%3Ftitle=711& chapter=88993&layout=html&Itemid=27 (accessed 9 May 2012). 80 See Karma Nabulsi, Traditions of War: Occupation, Resistance, and the Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 190–92. 81 Ralph Nelson, ‘The Federal Idea in French Political Thought’, Publius 5, no. 3 (1975), pp. 17–19. 82 Norman Davies, God’s Playground: A History of Poland, Vol. II (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), p. 41. 83 Ibid., p. 6. 84 Ibid., p. 80. 85 Proudhon, Si les Traités, p. 102. 86 Ibid., p. 250. 87 Ibid., p. 265. 88 See, Mikhail Bakunin, Statism and Anarchy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 89 Proudhon devotes a chapter of La Guerre et la Paix to a discussion of the likely outcomes of a possible war with England and concludes that such a war could 180 Notes not be won by the French, contrary to the assumptions of the chauvinists, because the requirement that a victorious France absorb England would be impossible to realise. Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, pp. 99–107. 4 War, providence and the international order in the thought of Rousseau, Kant and Comte 1 Hoffman, Revolutionary Justice, p. 261. 2 Amoudruz, Proudhon et l’Europe, p. 151. Work in the English language con- textualising Proudhon’s thought in the plural currents of nineteenth-century philosophy is minimal. None have yet shown how Proudhon’s thinking about international politics engaged and developed some of the key ideas current at that time. Aaron Noland’s piece on the debate between Rousseau and Proudhon and De Lubac’s chapter on Proudhon’s engagement with Kant are important, but neither engages with the international dimensions of either Proudhon’s thought, or Rousseau and Kant’s. Haubtmann’s unpacking of the relationship between Comte and Proudhon is instructive, but it has not been translated into English, nor does it relate to the question of war and the future republican social order. Vincent’s otherwise excellent book ignores these debates almost completely, as does Vernon’s. See, Noland, ‘Proudhon and Rousseau’; Henri De Lubac, Un-Marxian Socialist: A Study of Proudhon. Translated by R. E. Scantlebury (London: Sheed and Ward, 1948), pp. 121–68; Pierre Haubtmann, La Philosophie Sociale De P.-J. Proudhon (Grenoble: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble, 1980); Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon; Richard Vernon, Citizenship and Order. 3 This is not the place to begin to recount this debate. Suffice to say that recent attempts to resuscitate anarchism have been explored through linking anarchist concerns with domination with poststructuralist critiques of power and modernity. These attempts are controversial and have generated heated debate. The broad contours of this debate are set out in a recent useful anthology. See Duane Rousselle and Süreyya Evren, Post-Anarchism: A Reader (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). The debate itself was mainly a response to the work of Saul Newman. For his most recent iterations, see Newman, The Politics of Postanarchism; Newman ‘Postanarchism’; Newman, ‘Crowned Anarchy’. 4 For more on this, see, for example, Jun, Anarchism and Political Modernity. 5 Immanuel Kant, ‘Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch’, in Hans Reiss (ed.), Kant: Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 108. 6 While I follow Proudhon’s reasoning here, I am also indebted to Pamela Mason’s excellent account. See Pamela A. Mason, ‘The Communion of Citizens: Calvinist Themes in Rousseau’s Theory of the State’, Polity 26, no. 1 (1993): 25–49. 7 Michel Despland, Kant on History and Religion, with a Translation of Kant’s ‘On the Failure of All Attempted Philosophical Theodicies’ (Montreal: McGill – Queen’s University Press, 1973), p. 6. 8 Pierre Joseph Proudhon, The Philosophy of Progress. Translated by Shaun Wilbur, with the assistance of Jesse Cohn, revised by Shaun Wilbur in 2012 (Corvus Editions, 2012), n. 11, p. 26. Cf. Mikhail Bakunin, God and the State. Translated by Paul Avrich, 1st ed. (New York: Dover Publications, 1970). 9 See Noland, ‘Proudhon and Rousseau’; Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, pp. 56–59, 66–70; Anne-Sophie Chambost, Proudhon et la Norme: Pensé juridique d’un anarchiste (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2004), pp. 185–214. For a comparison of their respective influence on the French  Notes 181 revolutionary movement, see John Plamenatz, The Revolutionary Movement in France: 1815–71 (London: Longmans, 1952). Plamenatz concludes (p. xi): ‘If ever a political society existed that looked like a copy (though a very imper- fect one) of the ideal state described by Rousseau, it was not the revolutionary France of the Jacobins but the Paris Commune of 1871 [ … ]. But the Communards were not disciples of Rousseau; if they took their doctrines from anyone, it was from Proudhon.’ 10 Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 62. 11 Cited in De Lubac, Un-Marxian Socialist, p. 140. 12 Immanuel Kant, Principes Métaphysiques du Droit, Suivis du Project du Paix Pérpetuelle. Translated by Joseph Tissot, 2nd ed. (Paris: Librairie Philosophique de Ladrange, 1853). 13 Celestin Bouglé and A. Cuviller, ‘Introduction’, in P. J. Proudhon, De la Création de l’Ordre dans l’Humanité. Ou Principes d’Organisation Politique, edited by Celestin Bouglé and A. Cuviller (Paris: Marcel Rivière, 1927), p. 17. 14 Ibid., p. 18. 15 T. H. Ruyssen, ‘Introduction’, in P. J. Proudhon, Philosophie du Progrès (Paris, Marcel Rivière, 1946), pp. 15–17. 16 For more on this interesting episode, see Mary Pickering, August Comte: An Intellectual Biography, Vol III (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 85–95. 17 Haubtmann, La Philosophie Sociale, pp. 183–96. 18 Auguste Comte, System of Positive Polity, Vol. I (New York, Burt Franklin, 1968), p. ix. 19 Iain Hampsher-Monk, A History of Modern Political Thought: Major Political Thinkers from Hobbes to Marx (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), p. 175. 20 For more on this debate, see Victor Gourevitch, ‘The Religious Thought’, in The Cambridge Companion to Rousseau, ed. Patrick Riley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 193–246. 21 Jean Jaques Rousseau, ‘Letter to Voltaire’, in Victor Gouervitch (ed.), Rousseau: The Discourses and Other Early Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 240. 22 Ibid. (emphasis added). 23 Ibid., p. 245. 24 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘Of the Social Contract or Principles of Political Right’, in Victor Gourevitch (ed.), Rousseau: The Social Contract and Other Later Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 39–152. 25 Ibid., p. 150. 26 Ernst Cassirer, The Question of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Translated by Peter Gay (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963), p. 47. This is precisely the sense in which Proudhon understands the concept of Divine as we will see in the next chapter. 27 See, for example, Geraint Parry, ‘Émile: Learning to Be Men, Women, and Citizens’, in The Cambridge Companion to Rousseau (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 247–71. 28 Rousseau, ‘Of the Social Contract’, pp. 49–50. 29 Pamela A. Mason, ‘The Communion of Citizens: Calvinist Themes in Rousseau’s Theory of the State’, Polity 26, no. 1 (1993): 25–49. 30 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘Considerations on the Government of Poland’, in C. E. Vaughan (ed.), The Political Writings of Jean Jacques Rousseau (Cambridge University Press, 1915). Vol. 2. Available at http://oll.libertyfund. org/?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php%3Ftitle=711&chapter=88993& layout=html&Itemid=27 (accessed 9 May 2012), p. 211. 31 Rousseau, ‘Of the Social Contract’, p. 150. 182 Notes 32 For more on this see Michael C. Williams, ‘Rousseau, Reason and Realpolitik’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies 18, no. 2 (1989): 185–203. 33 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘Fragments of an Essay on the State of War’, in Jean Jacques Rousseau, A Lasting Peace through the Federation of Europe and The State of War. Trans. by C. E. Vaughan (London: Constable and Co., 1917). Available at http://oll.libertyfund.org/?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php %3Ftitle=1010& chapter=144262&layout=html&Itemid=27 (accessed 10 May 2012). 34 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘Rousseau’s Criticism of Saint Pierre’s Project’, in Jean Jacques Rousseau, A Lasting Peace through the Federation of Europe and The State of War. Translated by C. E. Vaughan (London: Constable and Co., 1917). Available at http://oll.libertyfund.org/?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php %3Ftitle=1010&chapter=144258&layout=html&Itemid=27 (accessed 10 May 2012). 35 Rousseau, ‘Rousseau’s Criticism’. 36 Ibid. 37 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘Statement of St. Pierre’s Project’, in Jean Jacques Rousseau, A Lasting Peace through the Federation of Europe and The State of War. Translated by C. E. Vaughan (London: Constable and Co., 1917). Available at http://oll.libertyfund.org/?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php %3Ftitle=1010&chapter=144256&layout=html&Itemid=27 (accessed 10 May 2012). 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid. 41 Nabulsi, Traditions of War, pp. 177–240. 42 See Tuck, Rights of War and Peace, pp. 224–25. For a fuller account, see Kedourie, Nationalism, chapter 2. 43 Ernst Cassirer, Rousseau, Kant and Goethe (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1963), p. 59. 44 Immanuel Kant, ‘Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose’, in Kant: Political Writings, edited by Hans Reiss (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press), p. 42. 45 See, for example, Susan Mendus, ‘Kant: “An Honest But Narrow-Minded Bourgeois?”’, in Howard Williams (ed.), Essays on Kant’s Political Philosophy (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1992), pp. 166–90. 46 Roger Scruton, Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), p. 28. 47 Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason (London: J. M. Dent, 1993), pp. 387–88. 48 Kant, ‘Idea of a Universal History’, p. 45. 49 Scruton, Kant, p. 50. 50 Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, p. 428. 51 Ibid., p. 412. 52 Ibid., p. 429. 53 Ibid., p. 435. 54 Kant, ‘Idea of a Universal History’, p. 42. 55 Ibid. 56 Kant, ‘Perpetual Peace’, p. 110. 57 Ibid., p. 43. 58 Ibid., p. 48. 59 Kant, ‘Idea of a Universal History’, p. 44. 60 Ibid., p. 45. 61 Kant, ‘Perpetual Peace’, p. 111.  Notes 183 62 Immanuel Kant, ‘The Metaphysics of Morals’, in Hans Reiss (ed.), Kant: Poli- tical Writings (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 172–73. This makes Kant something of the ‘sorry comforter’ that he criticised Grotius, Pufendorf and Vattel for being in ‘Perpetual Peace’. See Kant, ‘Perpetual Peace’, p. 103. 63 Kant, ‘Idea of a Universal History’, p. 48. 64 Ibid., p. 45. 65 Ibid., p. 46. 66 For more on this see Garrett Wallace Brown, ‘State Sovereignty, Federation and Kantian Cosmopolitanism’, European Journal of International Relations 11, no. 4 (2005): 495–522. 67 Kant, ‘Metaphysics of Morals’, p. 143. 68 Ibid. 69 Ibid. 70 Ibid., p. 163. For more on this see, for example, Peter Nicholson, ‘Kant on the Duty Never to Resist the Sovereign’, Ethics 86, no. 3 (1976): 214–30. 71 Kant, ‘Idea of a Universal History’, p. 47. 72 Ibid., pp. 47–48. 73 Ibid., p. 49 (emphasis added). 74 Ibid., p. 51. 75 Auguste Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion. Translated by Richard Congrave (London: John Chapman, 1858 [1852]), p. 7. Available at http:// archive.org/details/catechismofposit00comt (accessed 10 May 2012). 76 Cited in Mary Pickering, August Comte: An Intellectual Biography, Vol I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 291. 77 Ibid. 78 Ibid., p. 335. 79 Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, p. 386. 80 Auguste Comte, ‘Plan of the Scientific Work Necessary for the Reorganisation of Society’, in H. S. Jones (ed.), Comte: Early Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 76. 81 Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion, p. 58. 82 Ibid. 83 Comte, System of Positive Polity (Vol. I), p. 575. 84 Ibid. (Vol. III), p. 15. 85 Ibid. (Vol. I), p. 543. 86 Ibid. (Vol. II), p. 2. 87 Ibid. (Vol. III), p. 576. 88 Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion, p. 253. 89 Comte, System of Positive Polity (Vol. II), p. 29. 90 Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion, pp. 79–80. 91 Ibid., p. 308. 92 Comte, ‘Plan’, p. 105. 93 Auguste Comte, ‘Summary Appraisal of the General Character of Modern History’, in H. S. Jones (ed.), Comte: Early Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 24. 94 Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion, pp. 169–70. 95 Ibid., p. 198. 96 Ibid., pp. 371–72. 97 Ibid., p. 49. 98 Ibid., p. 371. 99 Comte, ‘Summary’, p. 47. 100 Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion, p. 243. 101 Ibid., p. 337. 102 Ibid., pp. 337–38. 184 Notes 103 Ibid., p. 360. 104 Comte, ‘Plan’, p. 108. 105 Vernon, Citizenship and Order, p. 125. 106 Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion, p. 339. 107 Ibid., p. 345. 108 Ibid., p. 333. 109 Ibid., pp. 228–29. 110 Comte, The Catechism of Positive Religion, p. 71. 111 Comte, System of Positive Polity (Vol. II), p. 247. 112 Pickering, August Comte, Vol I, p. 707. 113 Frank E. Manuel, The Prophets of Paris: Turgot, Condorcet, Saint-Simon, Fourier, Comte (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), p. 281. 114 Raymond Aron, Main Currents in Sociological Thought 1: Montesquieu, Comte, Marx, Toqueville: The Sociologists and the Revolution of 1848. Translated by Richard Howard and Helen Weaver (New York: Doubleday, 1968), p. 90. 115 Cited in John Hampden Jackson, Marx, Proudhon and European Socialism (London: English Universities Press, 1957), p. 115. 5 From providence to immanence 1 Ashley, ‘Untying the Sovereign State’. 2 For more on this relationship of IR theorists to US foreign policy over the last century and a half, see Oren, Our Enemies and US. 3 For contemporary accounts of the meaning and role of social theory in IR, see, for example, Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Jonathan Joseph, The Social in the Global: Social Theory, Governmentality and Global Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 4 Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 204. 5 Haubtmann, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1855–1865), pp. 95–96; Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, pp. 216–18. 6 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. II), p. 198. 7 This piece has recently been translated by Jesse Cohn and can be found in Iain McKay’s excellent anthology of Proudhon’s writings. See, Iain McKay, Property is Theft!: A Pierre-Joseph Proudhon Anthology (Edinburgh: AK Press, 2009), pp. 654–83. 8 Alan Gilbert, ‘An Ambiguity in Marx’s and Engels’s Account of Justice and Equality’, The American Political Science Review 76, no. 2 (1992): 328–46. 9 Peter H. Marshall, Demanding the Impossible: A History of Anarchism (London: Fontana, 1993), p. 249. 10 Ibid., p. 225. 11 Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 122. 12 Hoffman, Revolutionary Justice, p. 229. 13 Ibid., p. 248. 14 Ritter, The Political Thought of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, pp. 92–93. 15 Ibid., p. 34. 16 See, for example, Chambost, Proudhon et la Norme; Raymond Aron, Peace and War: A Theory of International Relations. Translated by Richard Howard and Annette Baker Fox (New York: Doubleday, 1966), pp. 600–610; Ansart, ‘La Présence du Proudhonisme dans les Sociologies Contemporaines’; Pierre Ansart, Marx et l’Anarchisme: Essai sur les Sociologies de Saint-Simon, Proudhon et Marx (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1969); Pierre Ansart, Naissance de l’Anachisme: Esquisse d’une Explication Sociologique du  Notes 185 Proudhonisme (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1970); Pierre Ansart, ‘Proudhon à Travers le Temps’, L’Homme et Société 123–24 (1997): 17–24; Pierre Ansart, Sociologie De Proudhon (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1967); Celestin Bouglé, La Sociologie de Proudhon (Paris: Armand Colin, 1911); Georges Gurvitch, Proudhon: Sa vie, son oeuvre avec un exposé de sa philosophie (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1965); Constance Margaret Hall, The Sociology of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon 1809–1865 (New York: Philo- sophical Library, 1971); Haubtmann, La Philosophie Sociale. 17 For more on this see, for example, Joshua M. Humphreys, ‘Durkheimian Sociology and 20th-Century Politics: The Case of Célestin Bouglé’, History of the Human Sciences 12, no. 3 (1999): 117–38. 18 P.-J. Proudhon, De la Justice dans la Révolution et dans l’Église: Études de Philosophie Pratique (IV Vols) (Paris: Fayard, 1988–90), Vol. I, p. 7. 19 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, ‘Justice in the Revolution and in the Church’ [extracts] Translated by Shaun Wilbur and Jesse Cohn, in McKay, Property is Theft! pp. 621–23. 20 Ibid., p. 626. 21 Ibid., p. 630. 22 Ibid., p. 636. 23 Ibid., Vol. III, p. 1140. 24 Ibid., Vol. II, p. 693. 25 Ibid., p. 694. Cf. Proudhon, What is Property? chapter three. 26 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. III), p. 1261. Emphasis added. 27 Ibid. 28 Ibid., p. 724. 29 Ibid., p. 1256. Only a very brief discussion of Proudhon’s extensive discussion of the nature and composition of the reality of ideas can be had here. See the seventh étude, ‘Les Idées’, for further details. 30 Ibid., p. 1281. 31 Ibid., p. 1565. 32 Hall, The Sociology of P.-J. Proudhon, p. 32. 33 A contemporary version of this debate in IR can be found in Wendt, ‘Why a World State is Inevitable’. 34 Ibid. (Vol. I), p. 167. 35 Ibid., p. 172. The attempt of the Saint-Simonians to found a civic religion is discussed at length here, pp. 248–57. 36 Ibid., p. 183. 37 Ibid., p. 637. 38 Ibid., p. 177. 39 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. IV), p. 2057. 40 Ibid. (Vol. I), p, 309. 41 Ibid. (Vol. III), p. 1376 (emphasis added). 42 Ibid., p. 1144. 43 Ibid., p. 1373. 44 Ibid. (Vol. IV), p. 2057. 45 Interestingly, Proudhon criticised the approach to evolution common at that time that understood it as a fatalistic trap of development within an individual creature – for example, the eternal return from larva to butterfly. This closed telos was probably Comte’s understanding too, but Proudhon saw the process as open. See the second chapter of the ninth étude, Progrès et Décadence, titled ‘Critique de l’idée de progrès (suite). – Théorie de l’évolution’, ibid. (Vol. III), pp. 1555–71. Cf. Stephen J. Gould, ‘Kropotkin Was No Crackpot’, Natural History 106 (June) (1997): 12–21; Stephen J. Gould, Life’s Grandeur: The Spread of Excellence from Plato to Darwin (London: Jonathan Cape, 1996); 186 Notes Marc D. Hauser, Moral Minds: How Nature Designed Our Universal Sense of Right and Wrong (London: Little, Brown, 2007). 46 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. I), p. 347. 47 Ibid., pp. 299–300. 48 Cited in De Lubac, Un-Marxian Socialist, p. 144. 49 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. II), p. 567. 50 Ibid., p. 326. 51 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. I), p. 177. 52 Cited in Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 218. See, Proudhon, Contradictions Politiques, pp. 127–28. 53 Proudhon, The Philosophy of Progress, p. 21. 54 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. II), p. 719. 55 Ibid., p. 705. 56 Ibid., p. 725. De Lubac’s otherwise excellent analysis is obviously mistaken to claim that Proudhon ‘had an instinctive aversion for all kind of system and for all ontology’. De Lubac, Un-Marxian Socialist, p. 141. 57 Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Théorie de la Propriété (Paris: Éditions l’Harmattan, 1997 [1862]), Electronic edition available at http://classiques.uqac.ca/classiques/ Proudhon/theorie_de_la_propriete/theorie_de_la_propriete.pdf (accessed, 10 May 2012), p. 120. 58 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. III), p. 1986. 59 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. IV), p. 2117. 60 Antony Copley, ‘Pierre-Joseph Proudhon: A Reassessment of His Role as a Moralist’, French History 3, no. 2 (1989): 194–221. 61 Proudhon’s anti-Semitism, while not to be ignored, has been exaggerated. It plays no part in his published works and the diary notes often referred to justify the claim that Proudhon is a ‘harbinger of fascism’ are nowhere repeated, nor do they correspond to or sustain his wider political beliefs. His anti-feminism, on the other hand, does, but typically, this has exercised far less reaction, telling us more about the state of Proudhon studies than Proudhon’s work. 62 Cf. Bouglé, La Sociologie de Proudhon, pp. 225–29. 63 Ibid. 64 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. II), p. 706. 65 Mme Jenny d’Héricourt, A Woman’s Philosophy of Woman or, Woman Affran- chised: An Answer to Michelet, Proudhon, Girardin, Legouvé, Comte, and Other Modern Innovators (Westport, Conn.: Hyperion Press, 1981), p. 45. 66 Copley, ‘Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’, p. 215. 67 Ibid., p. 208. 68 D’Héricourt, A Woman’s Philosophy of Woman, p. 41. 69 Copley, ‘Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’, p. 212. 70 Ibid., p. 213. 71 Haubtmann, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1855–1865), p. 67. Haubtmann notes that Proudhon had annotated the most recent works which proved the moral and biological equality of the sexes but ignored their conclusions. 72 Martine Segalen, Love and Power in the Peasant Family: Rural France in the Nineteenth Century. Translated by Sarah Mathews (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1983). 73 See Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, for one of the best analyses of Proudhon’s relationship to his parents. 74 Copley, ‘Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’. 75 D’Hérricourt, A Woman’s Philosophy of Woman, p. 58. 76 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. II), p. 712. 77 This is an ironic jibe at Randal Schweller’s claim that Andrew Linklater’s version of critical theory was ‘fantasy theory’ for not taking the so-called  Notes 187 realities of global politics seriously enough. By this account, there are no such trans-historical realities and attempts to claim that such realities exist are themselves fantastical. See, Randall L. Schweller, ‘Fantasy Theory’, Review of International Studies 25, no. 1 (1999): 147–50. 6 The historical sociology of war 1 Berghahn, Militarism, p. 1. 2 For more on this see Prichard, ‘What can the absence of anarchism tell us about the history and purpose of IR?’ 3 Letter to Hetzel, 9 January 1861, in Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. II), p. 226. Letters relating to the subject matter and publication of La Guerre et la Paix have been usefully collected, edited and published as an appendix to the second volume of this Tops edition. 4 Cited in Haubtmann, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1855–1865), p. 209. 5 Hervé Trinquier, ‘Introduction’, in Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, p. 11. 6 E. H. Carr, ‘Proudhon’, p. 52. 7 Proudhon, ‘Letter to Rolland’, 27 May 1861. Cited in Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. II), p. 247. 8 Ibid. 9 Marshall, Demanding the Impossible, p. 251. 10 Nicolas Bourgeois, Les Théories du Droit International Chez Proudhon: Le Fédéralisme et la Paix (Paris: Marcel Rivière, 1927), p. 26. 11 A short but interesting forum on the relationship of phenomenology to IR can be found in International Political Sociology 5, no. 1, 2011. 12 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), p. 34. 13 It has become customary to argue that only states can declare war and this principle has been traced back to Rousseau, who articulated this principle for the first time. See Nabulsi, Traditions of War, pp. 182–85. 14 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), pp., 73–74. 15 Ibid., p. 52. 16 Ibid., p. 40. 17 Ibid., p. 44. Cf. Comte, System of Positive Polity (Vol. III), pp. 44–58. 18 Ibid., pp. 67–68. 19 Proudhon’s annotations of Feuerbach have been reproduced as an appendix to Haubtmann’s La Philosophie Sociale. 20 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. IV), p. 2056. 21 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), pp. 45–46. 22 Ibid., p. 38. 23 Ibid., p. 89. 24 Ibid., p. 63. 25 Rousseau, ‘Of the Social Contract’, pp. 44–48. 26 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), p. 140. 27 Ibid., p. 85. 28 Ibid., p. 183. For a much better account of the rise of the West, see Jared M. Diamond, Guns, Germs and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies (London: Jonathan Cape, 1997). 29 Ibid., p. 184. 30 Ibid., p. 189. 31 Ibid., pp. 190–92. 32 For more on this and how it relates to contemporary debates in anarchist studies, see Alex Prichard, ‘Deepening Anarchism: International Relations and the Anarchist Ideal’, Anarchist Studies 18, no. 2 (2010): 29–57. 188 Notes 33 Kant, ‘Perpetual Peace’, p. 96. 34 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), pp. 89, 96–97. 35 Ibid., p. 91. 36 Ibid., p. 164. 37 Kant, ‘Perpetual Peace’, p. 105. 38 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), p. 168. 39 Ibid., p. 102. For Proudhon’s engagement with Kant’s ‘sorry comforters’, see, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), pp. 86–202. For Proudhon’s chapter-length treatment of Hobbes’ The Elements of Law Natural and Politic, see La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), chapter VI. 40 Phillipe Darriulat, Les Patriotes: La Gauche Républicaine et la Nation 1830–1870 (Paris: Éditions Du Seuil, 2001). 41 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix, Vol. I, p. 223. 42 Ibid., p. 267. 43 John Shy, ‘Jomini’, in Paret, Peter (ed.), Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), p. 163. 44 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), pp. 237–38, 245. 45 Ibid., p. 257. 46 Ibid., p. 280. 47 Ibid., p. 163. 48 Ibid., p. 231. 49 See, Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, pp. 187–88. Cf. Woodcock, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 141. 50 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), pp. 223–24. 51 Cf. Joseph M. Parent, ‘Duelling and the Abolition of War’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs 22, no.2 (2009): 281–300. 52 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. I), p. 279. 53 Ibid., p. 283. 54 Ibid., p. 289. 55 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. II), pp. 12–15. 56 Ibid., p. 16. 57 Ibid., p. 18. 58 Ibid., p. 20. 59 Ibid., p. 27. 60 Ibid., p. 31. 61 Ibid., pp. 39–40. 62 Ibid., p. 25. 63 Ibid., p. 54. 64 For a more contemporary articulation of this argument, see David Graeber, Debt: The first 5000 years (New York: Melville House, 2011). 65 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. II), p. 112. 66 Ibid., p. 112 (emphasis added). 67 Ibid., p. 111. 68 Ibid., p. 122. 69 Ibid., p. 160. 70 Ibid., p. 168. 71 Ibid., p. 164. 72 Ibid., p. 167. 73 Ibid., p. 189. 7 Anarchy, mutualism and the federative principle 1 Cited in Chambost, Proudhon et la Norme, p. 187. 2 For more on this, see, for example, Noland, ‘Proudhon and Rousseau’.  Notes 189 3 For more on this see, Thomas Stauffer, Nicole Töpperwein and Urs Thalmann- Torres, ‘Switzerland’, in Ann L. Griffiths (ed.), Handbook of Federal Countries, 2002 (London: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2002), pp. 314–28. 4 See, for example, Vernon, ‘Introduction’. 5 Proudhon, De La Justice (Vol. II), p. 735. 6 Ibid., p. 736. 7 Kant, ‘Perpetual Peace’, p. 113. 8 Proudhon, La Guerre et la Paix (Vol. II), p. 177. 9 Ibid. (Vol. I), p. 293. 10 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, pp. 37–38. 11 Ibid., p. 31. 12 Proudhon, De la Capacité Politique, p. 127. 13 Proudhon, Contradictions Politiques, p. 89. 14 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 33. 15 Ibid., p. 38. 16 Ibid., Chapter V. 17 Ibid., p. 96. 18 Ibid., p. 63. 19 Proudhon, Contradictions Politiques, p. 25. 20 Ibid., p. 11. 21 Ibid., p. 30. 22 Ibid., p. 33. 23 Ibid., p. 91. 24 Ibid., p. 103. 25 Ibid., p. 112. 26 Ibid., p. 132. 27 Ibid., p. 168. 28 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, pp. 46–47. 29 Ibid., p. 57. 30 Ibid., p. 61. 31 For more on this see Yves Simon, ‘A Note on Proudhon’s Federalism’, in Daniel J. Elazar (ed.), Federalism as Grand Design: Political Philo- sophers and the Federal Principle (Lanham: University Press of America, 1987), p. 228. 32 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 66. 33 Ibid., p. 67. 34 Proudhon, De la Capacité Politique, p. 271 (emphasis added). 35 Ibid., p. 291. 36 Proudhon De la Justice (Vol. II), p. 734. 37 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, n. 1 pp. 67–68. 38 For much more on this, see Nelson, ‘The Federal Idea in French Political Thought’, p. 37. 39 Proudhon, De la Capacité Politique, p. 200. 40 Ibid., p. 185. 41 Cited in Vincent, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, p. 218. See, Proudhon, Contradictions Politiques, pp. 127–28. 42 Proudhon, Si les Traités, p. 19. 43 Ibid., p. 51. 44 Ibid., p. 100. 45 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 123. 46 Ibid., p. 208. 47 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. I), p. 734. 48 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 58. 49 Proudhon, De la Justice (Vol. III), p. 1096. 190 Notes 50 Proudhon, De la Capacité Politique, p. 446. Chaudey was at Proudhon’s bedside taking down Proudhon’s words as he died and was responsible for the publication of the work. 51 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 111. 52 Proudhon, De La Capacité, p. 94. 53 For a fuller discussion of this aspect of Proudhon’s thinking see Jean Bancal, Proudhon: Pluralisme et Autogestion (2 Vols) (Paris: Aubier Montaigne, 1970). 54 For a good discussion of how Proudhon beat Marx to most of his conclusions see McKay, ‘Introduction’, pp. 64–78. 55 Bancal, Proudhon et l’Autogestion, p. 63. 56 Proudhon, De la Capacité Politique, pp. 54–58. 57 Ibid., p. 91. 58 Ibid., p. 78. 59 Ibid., p. 80. 60 Ibid., pp. 80–81. 61 Ibid., p. 176. 62 Ibid., p. 179. 63 Rufus Davis, The Federal Principle: A Journey through Time in Quest of a Meaning (London: University of California Press, 1978), p. 216. 64 Ibid., p. 208. 65 Proudhon, Du Principe Fédératif, p. 109. 8 Anarchy is what we make of it 1 Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time, 2nd ed. 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A Contested Nation: History, Memory and Nationalism in Switzerland, 1761–1891 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). Index ‘A Lasting Peace Through antinomies: Kant on 79–81; in the Federation of Europe’ marriage 107; political 138–44; (Rousseau) 75 production and consumption 128; ‘Achieving Cooperation Under Proudhon on 101–3; war and Anarchy: Strategies and Institutions’ peace 116 (Axelrod and Keohane) 28 anti-statism 5 Acton, Lord 43, 55 Apartheid 26 African National Congress (ANC) 26 Arab Uprisings 30 After Hegemony (Keohane) 28 Aristotle 84, 139, 145 age of anarchism 1–3, 163–7 armies, Proudhon on 123 Alexander II (of Russia) 62 Aron, Raymond 89, 95 Algeria 47, 125 Ashley, Richard 35–6, 91 alienation, Proudhon on 103–6, 161 Athens 1 American Civil War 54 Austria 50–2, 55, 57, 59, 61, 65, 114 American Federation 147 Austro-Hungarian Empire 50–1 Amoudruz, Madalene 10, 67, 155 authority, antinomy of liberty 139, ‘Amour et Marriage’ (Proudhon) 106 140, 153 ‘An Answer to the Question: What is autocracy, antinomy of democracy Enlightenment?’ (Kant) 77 139, 142 Anarchical Society (Bull) 24 autogestion: for exercising political anarchism, age of 1–3, 163–7 power 161; and mutualism 150–4; anarchist political theory of Proudhon Proudhon on 138 135–55 autonomy 24, 27 anarchists of 19th and early 20th Axelrod, Robert 28, 30 centuries 65 anarchy: and contemporary IR Bakunin, Michael 7, 43, 53, 60, theory 2–5, 19–41; definition of 20; 64, 66 emancipatory potential of 157–63; balance of power: disruption by institutionalisation of 23, 161–3; revolution 26; in Europe 49, 57; international 4, 6, 91; political and global order 22, 23, 24; liberty system of 139; Proudhon’s defence of states 22, 25; Proudhon on 45, of 110–11; Proudhon’s political 138, 154, 161–2 theory 135–55; relation with justice balance of production and 160–1; virtues of 22–7, 158–9 consumption 128–31 anarchy problematique 20, 23, 35, 159 Bancal, Jean 152 Angell, Norman 22, 28 Bank of the People 7 Ansart, Pierre 94, 95 Barni, Jules 64–5 antagonism 81, 102, 132 Battle for Seattle 1, 167 anti-capitalism 1, 5 Bauer, Otto 43 214 Index Belgium: and France 50; and Cold War 23 Proudhon 48, 60, 93, 113, 136 Cole, G.D.H. 8 Besançon (France) 7 collective force: Proudhon on 96–8, Beslay, Charles 114 161–2; recovery of 103–6; shaping beyond anarchy in contemporary IR war 133. see also force theory 30–6 collective reason: Proudhon on 96–8, Bismarck, Otto von 43–4, 47, 48, 59, 161–2; shaping war 133. see also 164, 165 reason Blanc, Louis 43, 113, 153 colonialism 30 Bonaparte, Louis Napoleon. see Common Sense (Paine) 46 Napoleon III (of France) commune, Proudhon on 146 Bonaparte, Napoleon. see Napoleon I ‘Communion of Citizens’ 74 (of France) communism. see panarchy Booth, Ken 38, 39 commutative contracts 145–6 Bouglé, Celestin 8, 70, 94–5 Comte, Auguste: and biology 100–101; Bourbon monarchy restoration 141–2 and evolution 85, 98; on European Bourgeois, Nicolas 114 republics 165–6; on idealism 85; on bourgeois economics 7 individuality 92; on industrial class bourgeois families 108, 109 132; on international relations 69; Breuilly, John 57 and Kant 15, 83–6; on labour 152; Britain 58–9, 61, 66, 88 law of the three stages 104; and British Empire 22 materialism 15–16, 69, 84–8, 116, Bull, Hedley 19, 24–7, 34 166; on morality 100–1; on noumena Burke, Edmund 3, 9, 22, 24, 25, 43, 46 115; on order 158–9; philosophies of history 8–9, 12, 15–16, 83–9; Cabet, Etienne 90 political antinomy 139; and Calvinism 69, 74, 147 positivism 16, 69, 84–9, 95, 96, 165; capitalism 1, 28, 129; collapse of 156; and Proudhon 8, 67–71, 84, 88, crisis and failure 157; emergence of 89–90, 95, 96; and Religion of 33; global 2; Proudhon on 151–2 Humanity 16, 69, 71, 89, 165; Carr, E.H. 9–10, 38, 57, 114, 166 replacement of force with order Cassirer, Ernst 78 119; role of God 69; and Rousseau ‘Catechism of Positive Philosophy’ 165; on social form 98; (Comte) 93 understanding of human condition Catéchisme Positiviste (Comte) 71, 84 166; on war 116, 127 Catherine II (of Russia) 61 Condorcet, Marquis de 127 Catholicism 55, 69 conflict: change in 116; ontology caucasians, Proudhon on 120 of 119; social 132–3 causes of war 128–32 Congress of Paris (1856) 50 Cavour, Count Camillio Benso di Congress of Vienna (1815) 55, 62, 49–52, 54, 56, 164 138, 141, 148, 165 Chambost, Sophie 94 conscience, role of 99 Charge of the Light Brigade Constitutional Charter (1814) 141–2 (Tennyson) 126 constitutionalism 51, 136, 138, 140–4, Charlemagne 117 148–9 Chaudey, Gustave 4, 93, 151 consumption as economic law 128–31 ‘chauvinists’ 50, 51 contemporary concepts, entrenchment Chomsky, Noam 38–9, 41 of ideas in 19–20 ‘civil commonwealth’ 82 ‘Contest of the Faculties’ (Kant) 70 Civil Religion 74, 76 contract: liberal idea of 145–6; civil rights 30, 121–2 mutualist 153–4 class basis for politics 144 Contradictions Politiques (Proudhon) 9, classical anarchism 68 47, 93, 137, 139, 141, 142, 148, 150 cognition. see human cognition cooperation and game theory 28  Index 215 Copley, Anthony 107, 108, 109 révolution (Proudhon) 9, 93, 137, corporations 156 138, 139, 150, 154 cosmology, antinomies of 79–80 duels 125, 127 Crimea 47; war in 49–50, 51, 58, 131 critical IR theory 11, 31, 33–4 economic causes of war 128–32 Critique of Pure Reason (Kant) 70, economic rights, Proudhon on 122 77, 84 economics, bourgeois 7 Cuvillier, Armand 70 economy, accountable to society Czechoslovakia 48 146–7 1815 treaties 49, 50–1, 55, 65, 138, 149 Darwin, Charles 85 élan 126, 127 Davis, Rufus 154 emancipation: potential of anarchy De la Capacité Politique des Classes 157–63; Proudhon on 120, 122, 150 Ouvrières (Proudhon) 93, 137, 138, Emile (Rousseau) 78 150, 151, 153 empires 5, 43, 55, 88 De la Création de l’ordre dans Engels, Friedrich 7, 43, 71, 94 l’Humanité (Proudhon) 7, 9, 70, 151 England 164 De la Justice dans la Révolution et enlightenment rationalism 165 dans l’Église (Proudhon) 8, 9, 70, Enloe, Cynthia 35 71, 92–5, 98, 99, 101, 110, 117, 118, environmental damage 1, 26, 156 133, 136, 150 Europe: military developments 58; debt as economic conflict 131 national unity in 19th century 42–6, Decartes, René 115 65–6; nationalism in 19th century defence of anarchy 27 46–8; republicanism in 19th century deference 1 46–8; Rousseau on 75–6 d’Eichatel, Gustave 84 European Court of Justice 29 democracy: Acton on 55; and European Economic Community anarchist theory 2; antinomy of (EEC) 25, 26, 29 autocracy 139, 142; political system European equilibrium: as natural of 139, 144; Proudhon on 55, 132 order of things 123; Poland’s role in Derrida, Jacques 40 keeping 59; Proudhon on 57, 63–4, Despland, Michel 69 65–6, 136, 147–50; threat to 46–7, Deudney, Daniel 32–3 49, 54–5, 60, 164. see also balance development in anarchy 27 of power d’Herricourt, Jenny 108, 109, 110 European Union (EU) 26, 29–30, 34 Dickinson, Goldsworthy Lowes 22, 28 evolution 85, 98 ‘Discourse on the Origin of Inequality’ experimentation in anarchy 27 (Rousseau) 73 extinction, planetary 1 dissolution of political institutions 140, 143, 144 Falk, Richard 37 diversity 49, 53 family 107–9, 139–40, 142 Divine Right to Rule 104 father, role of 107 ‘domestic analogy’ 25 fear of anarchy 39 domestic order 3, 122–3, 134 federalism: of France 57; in Italy domination: anarchy and 91; in 53; Proudhon on 4, 5, 45, 137–8, capitalist society 151–2; and 154, 164 collective force 104–5, 120–1; of federation: idea of Italian 51; Kant Europe’s states 143; global 156; lack on 83; of natural groups 135, 136; of in anarchy 135; regimes of 13–14 principle of 136, 145–7, 148–50, Doyle, Michael 31 154; Rousseau on 75–7; states 29 Du Célébration du Dimanche female sexuality 108 (Proudhon) 136 feminism 34–5, 109 Du Principe Fédératif, et de la nécessité Ferrari, Joseph 49 de reconstituer le parti de la Feuerbach, Ludwig Andreas 104, 117 216 Index force: and justice 133; Kant on 122–4; Grotius, Hugo 24, 128 legitimacy of use of 30; Proudhon group agency, Proudhon on 5 on 5, 96–8, 119–20; right of 118–24; groups: plurality of 103, 123–4; Rousseau on 119, 123 tendency to unity of smaller 142. Fourier, Charles 7, 85, 90, 100, 108 see also natural groups ‘Fragments of an Essay on the State Guérin, Daniel 110 of War’ (Rousseau) 75 Gurvitch, George 8, 94, 95 France: ambitions in Italian peninsula 56–7; Assembly 127, 150; civil Habermas, Jürgen 33–4 code 138; Comte on 88; Hall, Constance 94, 98 constitutional order 143; defeat by Haubtmann, Pierre 94, 109 Austrians 114; defeat by Prussians Hazareesingh, Sudhir 64 47; in European history 113; Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 80 extension of 49; industrialisation of Hegelian philosophy 32, 101, 138 131; militarisation of 58–9, 125; Helvetic Confederation 136, 147 nationalism 47–8; and Poland 60, 61; Henry IV (of France) 75 positivism in 86; republican 5, 64; Herder, Johann Gottfried 52 revolution. see French Revolution; Herzen, Alexander 8, 60, 90 social structure 61; socialism in 57; Hetzel, Pierre-Jules 113 view of left 164 hierarchies 29, 135 France et Rhin (Proudhon) 9, 137 history: of ideas 19–20; immanence France, war with Austria 51–2 to social order 92; philosophies of Franco-Prussian war 164–5 see philosophies of history Franz Joseph (of Austria) 51 Hitler, Adolf 23 French Revolution 70, 77–8, 82, 141, Hitlerism 10 148, 149, 150 Hobbes, Thomas 5–6, 37, 40, 73, 89 Frost, Mervyn 26–7 Hobson, John 22, 120 Fukuyama, Francis 31 Hoffman, Robert 10, 67, 94 Hoffman, Stanley 23 Galicia (Poland) 62 Holy Alliance 23, 83, 138 game theory and contemporary IR 28 homosexual, Proudhon as repressed 110 Garibaldi, Guissepe 48, 56–7, 64 Howard, Michael 65 gender relations 107–10, 161 human cognition 78–80, 84–5, 115. General idea of the revolution in the see also self-knowledge nineteenth century (Proudhon) 8 human condition, understanding Genoa 1 of 166 Gentz, Fredrick Von 22, 24, 25, 46 human rights regime 26 Germany: nationalism 43–4; Hume, David 73, 84 popularity of Napoleon III 48; Humphreys, Joshua M. 95 revival of Kingdom of Poland 63; Hungary 46, 48 rising power 166; threat to European equilibrium 164–5; ‘Idea for a Universal History with a unification of 47, 154 Cosmopolitan Purpose’ (Kant) 77, Gilbert, Alan 94 80–1, 82, 83, 84 Girondists 64, 149 ideas, entrenchment in contemporary global order 22, 23, 24, 156–7 concepts 19–20 globalisation 26 ideo-realism 16, 70–1, 96 God: Kant on 80, 82; role in Ikenberry, John 31 human history 69; role in human immanence 98–9 society 71–3 ‘immutability thesis’ 34 Gordon, Uri 2, 13 individuals: alienation by state 135; gouvernementalisme 131 anarchy of rights-bearing 26; Great Powers 22 antinomy between society and Great War 22 102–3; and collective force 97–8;  Index 217 Comte on 86; immanence to justice relations 69; on order 158–9; 92, 98–9; Kant on 86; Rousseau on perpetual peace 165; phenomena 73–4 114–15; philosophies of history 8–9, Indochina 47 12, 15–16, 77–83; political industrial class, Proudhon on 132 antinomy 140; and Proudhon 67–71, industrialisation 1, 128, 131 89–90, 115–16; Proudhon on 99; institutionalisation: of anarchy 23, replacement of force with order 119; 161–3; of global order 156–7 as revolutionist 19; on right of war interdependence and contemporary IR 122–3, 124; and Rousseau 165; theory 29–30 theory of providence 68–9; international anarchy 4, 6, 91 understanding of human condition International Criminal Court (ICC) 26 166; on war 115–16 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 28 Kedourie, Elie 44, 67 international relations (IR) theory: and Keohane, Robert O. 28, 30 anarchy 2–3, 14, 19–22; anarchy ‘Kingdom of Ends’ 6 and contemporary 2–5, 39–41; kings, power of 104 beyond anarchy and contemporary Kossuth, Lajos 46 30–6; in philosophies of history 69; Kropotkin, Peter 37 Proudhon on 147–8; taming anarchy Kuhn, Thomas 41, 90 and contemporary 27–30; towards anarchism in contemporary 35–9; ‘l’ Etat’ (Proudhon) 93 ‘virtues of anarchy’ and ‘l’ organe morale’. see moral organ contemporary 22–7 La Fédération et l’unité en Italie interstate anarchy 32 (Proudhon) 9, 48, 93, 137 Ireland 88 La Grande Armée 46, 123, 165 Italy: federal constitution 149; and La Guerre et la Paix (Proudhon) 8, 9, France 47–8, 125; social structure 10, 17, 60, 67, 93, 112–14, 133–4, 61; unification of 14–15, 44, 48–59, 136, 137, 154; economic causes of 144, 154, 164 war 128–32; right of force and rights of peoples 118–28; transformation Jacobinism: federation in France 149; of war 132–3 and property 153; republicanism 48, La Pornocratie, ou les femmes dans 65, 110, 158; suspected plot to les temps modèrnes (Proudhon) 110 remove Proudhon 127; theory on labour 162–3; as collective force 105, social contract 147; understanding 162–3; Comte on 86, 87, 88; of human condition 166 division of 143, 151; Proudhon on Jahn, Beate 30, 34 105, 152–3 Jomini, Antoine-Henri (Baron Langlois, Joseph 115 General of Brigade) 126 language: origins of 85–6; of war 116 justice: in anarchy 5; antinomy as Laski, Harold 8, 22 principle underpinning 101–3; law of the three stages 71, 86, 104, 116 emergence from anarchy 136, 162; laws of the duel 127 immanence to individuality 92, 98–9; laws of war 125–8 immanence to society 92, 98–9; Le Peuple 7 linking with war 133; Proudhon on 5, League of Europe 75–7 92, 97, 98–101, 110; relation with League of Nations 22, 23, 28, 166 anarchy 160–1; sexual politics and League of Peace and Freedom 64 106; transnational 156; and war 117 legal political capacity 152 Lemaire, Charles 8, 69 Kant, Immanuel: on antinomies 79–81, Lenin, Vladimir 19 101; Comte on 83–4; on domestic liberal scientific realism 31 order 122; on federalism 137; on liberalism: and anarchist theory 19; force 122–4; on ideas 16, 79–83; on brand of republicanism 158; individuals 86; on international campaign against empire 50; and 218 Index contemporary IR theory 27–31, moral phenomenology of war 114–18 34, 40; ideology 156–7; and morality: and evolution of warfare poststructuralists 167; theory on 126–8; Proudhon on 106; views on political economy 152 100–1; in war 123, 133 ‘Liberalism 3.0’ 31 Morgenthau, Hans 9, 10 liberty: antinomy of authority 139, 140, mutualism: and autogestion 150–4; 153; regime of 139; of states 22, 25 political economy of 138; Proudhon Linklater, Andrew 11, 33–4 on 5, 11, 97 localism 55 Locke, John 30, 73 Nabulsi, Karma 77 Lombardy 50, 51, 58 Naples, Kingdom of 50, 56 Louis Napoleon lll. see Napoleon III Napoleon I (of France) 46, 127, 141 (of France) Napoleon III (of France) 7–8; Louis XVI (of France) 77 adventurism 125; amnesty of 136; Low Countries 48 coup d’etat 113, 141; imperial Luxembourg Commission 153 ambitions 117; in Italy 56; lying, Kant on 79 nationalism 47–8, 49–52, 54, 164; plebiscite support 151; Proudhon Machiavelli, Niccolo 3 on 93; and Prussia 64; Magenta, Battle of 52 republicanism 55 Maistre, Joseph de 23, 46, 83, 118 Napoleonic wars 113 ‘Manifesto of the Sixty’ 150–1 nation states: leading to world wars Manuel, Frank E. 89 65; origins of 42–3; Rousseau on 136; marriage, Proudhon on 107–9 today 156. see also states Marshall, Peter 94, 114 national unity: 19th century Europe Marx, Karl: caricature of 42–6, 65–6; in Italy 48–59; in Proudhon 7; critic of liberalism 34; Poland 59–65 on Franco-Prussian war 164–5; on nationalism: in 19th century Proudhon 71, 94, 101; and Europe 43–4, 46–8, 164–5; as a republicanism 83; view on discourse 54; in Europe 53; in France nationalism 43 57; of Garibaldi 56; in Italy 52; in Marxism 11, 34; and bourgeois Poland 59–63; problems of 54–5 families 109; and contemporary IR natural groups: federation of 135, 136; theory 31, 33 governance of 143; identification materialism, Comte on 15–16, 69, 84–8, 136; political capacity 152–3; 116, 166 Proudhon on 103, 148; relations Mazzini, Guissepe 43, 46, 48, 52–7 with each other 139 McNeill, William 58, 59, 65 natural law, and private property 7 Metaphysical Elements of Right nature: as a collective force 104; laws (Kant) 70 of 72, 78, 80–1 ‘Metaphysics of Morals’ (Kant) 81, 82 negarchy 32–3 Metternich, Klemens von (Prince) 9, neo-Kantian: idiom 34; Proudhon as 49, 50, 55, 92 94–5; republicanism 33, 110 Mexico 47, 125 new anarchists 167 Michelet, Joules 7, 95 Nice, Duchy of 50, 52 ‘militarisme’ 58 nobility in Poland 60–1 military. see warfare Noland, Aaron 68 Milner, Helen 29–30 non-domination: anarchy and 91, 159; Minié, Captain 58 republican principle 157 Mitrany, David 8 Nord 114 Modena 50 noumena 78–9, 115 monarchy 55, 139, 140, 141–2, 144 Nouvelles observations sur l’unité Montesquieu 95 Italienne (Proudhon) 9 moral organ 99–101, 103, 106, 119–20 nuclear threat 1, 156, 166  Index 219 optimism 73 piracy 130 Opuscule Fondamental (Comte) 71, 84 ‘Plan of a Scientific Work Necessary order: in anarchy 3, 4, 5, 6, 24, 136, for the Reorganisation of Society’ 138, 162; domestic 3, 122–3, 134; (Comte) 71 global 22, 23, 24, 156–7; ‘Order and Plombières (Belgium) 50 Progress’ 69 plundering 130–1 Organisation of the Petroleum pluralism 26; of society 143; vision Exporting Countries (OPEC) 28 of state 32 Owen, Robert 120 Poland 57; national unity in 19th century 59–65; social structure Paine, Tom 46 60–3; unification of 14–15, 44, panarchy 139, 140 144, 164 Papacy 83 ‘Polish Question’ 59 Papal states 50, 51 political antinomy 138–44 Paris: Congress of 50; and political atmosphere, current 1 Proudhon 136; Prussian army on political capacity of natural groups outskirts 58–9 152–3 Paris Commune 64–5 ‘Political Catechism’ (Proudhon) 93 parliamentary representation 150–1 political economy: as a collective Parma 50 force 104–5; liberal theory of 152; participatory anarchies 27 of mutualism 138; role of 136 pauperism in modern society 129, 130 political institutions, dissolution of 140, peace: antinomy of war 116; 143, 144 perpetual 68, 75–7; projects for 64–5; political rights, Proudhon on 121–2 Proudhon on 132–3; through political systems 139 federalism 137; treaties 121 Political thought of Pierre-Joseph Peace of Westphalia 76, 148, 149 Proudhon, The (Ritter) 10–11 peasant families 109 politics: class basis for 144; and perpetual peace 68, 75 contemporary IR theory 36–7 ‘Perpetual Peace’ (Kant) 68, 70, 77, Pope, Alexander 72 81, 82, 122–3 Portugal, Comte on 88 Petit, Philip 12 positivism 5; of Comte 16, 69, 84–9, ‘Petit Catéchisme Politique’ 95, 96, 165; view of law 158–9 (Proudhon) 93 positivism brand of republicanism 158 Petit Catechisme Politique (Proudhon) Positivist Religion 98 137, 138 Positivist republicanism 110 Pflanze, Otto 43 poststructuralism 35–7, 167 phenomena 78–9, 86–7, 114–15 poverty as natural human condition phenomenology of war, moral 114–18 128–9 Philadelphia system 136 Poverty of philosophy (Marx) 7 ‘Philosophical Considerations on the pre-state anarchy 32 Sciences and Scientists’ (Comte) 84 ‘Priest Scientists’ 69, 88, 158 Philosophie du Progrès (Proudhon) 9, Prisoner’s Dilemma 28 69, 70, 71, 103–4 private property. see property philosophies of history 3, 8–9, 12, production as economic law 128–31 15–16, 69, 166; Comte’s 83–9; ‘Progrès et Décadence’ (Proudhon) 93 context to Proudhon’s writings progress 1, 4; for Proudhon 138–9; 67–71, 89–90; Kant’s 77–83; war and conflict motor of 158 Rousseau’s 71–7 property: as cause of war 128; philosophy: Proudhon’s 95–6; Proudhon on 13, 105, 136, 152, Proudhon’s moral 106 153–4; state power sustaining Pickering, Mary 84, 89 private 7 Piedmont 49–52, 57 prostitution 108, 109 pillage 130, 131–2 protesters 1 220 Index Proudhon, Pierre-Joseph: anarchist 16–17, 91–111; on socialism 106; political theory 135–55; on on statism 65; theory of justice 13; antinomies 101–3; on armies 123; understanding of human condition on autogestion 138; on balance of 166; vision of anarchy 4–5; vision of power 45, 138, 154, 161–2; and society 13; on war 5, 17; on women Belgium 48, 60, 93, 113, 136; birth 7; 107–10; on working classes 164; on capitalism 151–2; and Comte 8, writings 3, 7–10 67–71, 84, 88, 89–90, 95, 96; on Proudhon et l’Europe (Amoudruz) 10 commune 146; and contemporary IR providence: Kant on 68–9; theory 33, 35, 36, 41; criticism on Proudhon on 68–9; Rousseau on writings 9–11; defence of anarchy 72–3 110–11; on democracy 55, 132; on Prussia: defeated by France 77; and economic rights 122; education 7; European equilibrium 66; military election to revolutionary assembly 7; developments in 58–9; and Poland on emancipation 120, 122, 150; 59, 61; rise of 154, 164–5; unification on European equilibrium 57, 63–4, of 47 65–6, 136, 147–50; on federalism 4, Prussian state 22 5, 45, 137–8, 154, 164; on force 4, 5, Pyat, Félix 7, 127 45, 137–8, 154, 164; global politics 5; on group agency 5; historical racism of Proudhon 120 intellectual context 12; ideas rationalism, and anarchist theory 19 as inspiration for future 157; real political capacity 152 imprisonment 7–8; on industrial realism: and anarchist theory 19, 23–4; class 132; influences 8, 89; and contemporary IR theory 21, intellectual context of ideas 67–71, 27–30, 35–6, 40; view of anarchy 89–90; international political theory 157–60 4–5, 11–12, 42–3, 157, 161–6; on reason: Kant on 78–81; and principles international relations 147–8; of justice 99; Proudhon on 96–8; on Italian unification 48–59; on Rousseau on 72–3. see also collective justice 5, 16-17, 92, 97, 98–101,; and reason Kant 67–71, 89–90, 99, 115–16; on Recherches sur la principe et la labour 105, 152–3; La Guerre et la constitution du droit des gens Paix (Proudhon) 112–34; Marx on 7, (Proudhon) 9 71, 94, 101; on morality 106; on re-emergence of anarchism 1–2 mutualism 5, 11, 97; on Napoleon III Reign of Terror 70, 77; on relational 93; on nation states 48–59; on ontology 96–8; on republicanism 45, national unity 44–5; on natural 133–4, 135–8; and Rousseau 67–71, groups 103, 148; as neo-Kantian 89–90, 95, 136, 137 94–5; and Paris 136; on peace 132–3; relational ontology, Proudhon personal tragedy 113; and on 96–8 philosophies of history 67–71, relations, commutation of 97–8 89–90; philosophy of 95–6, 106; religion: civil 74; as collective reason on political rights 121–2; and 104; Kant on 82; role in philosophies principle of equilibrium 48; progress of history 69; and war 116–17. see for 138–9; on property 13, 105, 136, also theodicy 152, 153–4; on providence 68–9; on ‘Religion of Humanity’ (Comte) 16, Prussia 47; racism 120; on reason 69, 71, 89,165 96–8; on relation of justice to republican states 6, 119; Comte on anarchy 160; on relational ontology 88; Kant on 78; Rousseau on 62–3; 96–8; as repressed homosexual 110; 69–70, 74–7, 119, 136; structures of on republicanism 45, 133–4, 135–8; rule and authority 29 and Rousseau 67–71, 89–90, 95, 136, republicanism: in 19th century 137; sexual politics 17, 106–10, 139; Europe 46–8; and constitutionalism on social force 96-8; social theory 5, 140–4; evolution to political 16;  Index 221 failure of 160; as intellectual context Saint Pierre, Abbé de 75, 77, 83 of Proudhon’s ideas 12–13; inversion Saint-Simon. see Rouvroy, Claude of understanding 157; Kant’s 83; Henri de (Comte de Saint-Simon) of Kant’s system 82; legacy in San Marino 44 anarchism 13; of Mazzini 54, 56; Sardinia 49 Napoleonic 83; and peace 64–5; Savoy, Duchie of 50, 52 political thought of 158–9; politics Schlegel, Friedrich 52 in Europe 59; Proudhon on 45, Schmidt, Brian 2 133–4, 135–8; replacement of force scientific strategy of warfare 126 with order 119; role of institutions Scruton, Roger 80 73–5; Rousseau’s 139; tradition Seattle, Battle for 1, 167 89–90; utopian 110 Second World War 23 ‘Responsibility to Protect’ 30 Segalen, Martine 109 revolution: and anarchist theory 19; self-knowledge, Rousseau on 73–4 disruption of balance of power 26; Selwyn Schapiro, J. 10 in Europe 141–2; in France 77–8, 82; sexual politics of Proudhon 17, Rousseau on 77 106–10, 139 revolutionary wars 77, 83 Si les Traités de 1815 ont cessé d’exister Rhine 50, 77 (Proudhon) 9, 60, 93, 137 right: and antinomies 102; codes of Sicily 56, 57 116–17; of force 106–7, 118–24; Skinner, Quentin 12, 19–20, 41 of pillage 130; views on 101; of slavery 119, 120 war 121–4. see also morality social conflict 116, 132–3 Rights of man (Paine) 46 social contract, theory on 147 rights-bearing individuals, anarchy Social Contract (Rousseau) 46, 71–2, of 26 73–4, 83, 119 Risorgimento (or Resurgence) 44, 55 social engineering 5 Ritter, Alan 10–11, 94 social force, Proudhon on 96–8 Robespierre, Maximilien 70, 77, social groups, with moral and political 147, 165 capacity 135 Rome 50, 56–7 social individualism 73–4 Rosenberg, Justin 33 social life: anarchy as primary goal 4; Rousseau, Jean-Jacques: conceptions order in 25 of war and right of force 119; social movement 115 federation 149; followed by social order: anarchy as underlying Mazzini 53; on force 119, 123; ideas principle 91; immanence to animated revolutionaries 165; on history 92 international relations 69; and social power, Proudhon on 96–8 Kant 82–3; Kant on 77–8; and moral social qualities of anarchy 24–6 organ 100; on order 158–9; social relations, anarchy as template philosophies of history 8–9, 12, for 4 15–16, 71–7; on Poland 62–3; and social theories: Comte 110; Kant Proudhon 67–71, 89–90, 95, 136, 110; Proudhon 5, 91–111; 137; reaction against 22; replacement Rousseau 110 of force with order 119; role of socialism 54; campaign against God 69; social contract 147; Social empire 50; in Europe 57; moral Contract 46; understanding of purpose of 122; Proudhon on 106; human condition 166; on war revolutionary 55 116, 123 society: antinomy between individual Rouvroy, Claude Henri de (Comte and 102–3; Comte on 85; immanence de Saint-Simon) 84, 108, 165 to justice 92, 98–9 Russia 26, 59, 61, 62, 63, 65, sociology 87, 88; of war 112–34 166; rising power 166; Soviet Solferino, Battle of 51, 52, 56, 57, 114 ambition 23 Sonderbund 147 222 Index Sorbonne, influence of Proudhon 95 towards anarchism, in contemporary sovereignty of states: as a collective IR theory 35–9 force 104; and global order 22 traditionalism 55 Stalin, Joseph 23 transcendence: ideology of 157–8; lack Stanislas (of Poland) 61 of for Proudhon 92, 98 state of nature theory 5–6; Kant on transformation of war 132–3 122; Proudhon on 102-3; Rousseau Treaty of Basel 77 on 73 Treaty of Villafranca 149 states: Comte on 87–8; definitions Trinquer, Hervé 114 of 30; domination of 151–2; in Tuck, Richard 67 Europe 156; interactions of 166; Turner, Scott 37–8 Kant on 81–3; militarisation of 126; Tuscany and Modena, state of 51 republicanism 90; role in world politics 23; Rousseau on 74–7, 136; unification 156 as social groups 135; sovereign as United Nations (UN) 2, 28, 31 single corporate body 103 United States of America 23, 30, 120, statism: and anarchy 27; origins of 122, 147, 156–7, 166 42–3; Proudhon on 65, 110; today 1; United States of Europe 53, 64 views on 157 unity, from international anarchy 4 ‘strategic interdependence’ 29 Universal Declaration of Human Suard Foundation 7 Rights 26 Switzerland 30, 53–4, 64, 136, 146, universal suffrage 55, 132, 140, 144, 147, 164 147, 153 System of Positive Philosophy (Comte) utopia, Comte’s 88 70, 71 utopian republicanism 110 Système des contradictions économiques, ou philosophie de la Venetia 50 misère (Proudhon) 7, 101 Venice, state of 51, 52 Vernon, Richard 12 Talmon, John 67, 154 Victor Emmanuel (King of Piedmont) taming anarchy, in contemporary IR 48, 49, 51, 54, 56, 57 theory 27–30 Vienna, Congress of. see Congress of taxes and tariffs 131 Vienna (1815) Taylor, A.J.P. 51 Vietnam 166 Tennyson, (Lord) Alfred 126 Villafranca, Treaty of 51–2, 164 ‘The Lisbon Earthquake’ (Voltaire) Vincent, Steven 13, 94 71–2 virtues of anarchy 158–9; as ‘The Realism of Justice: Transcendence contemporary IR theory 22–7 and Immanence’ (Proudhon) 98 vision of anarchy, Proudhon’s 4–5 theodicy 3, 4, 15; of Comte 118; of Voltaire 15, 71–3 Kant 81, 118; of Rousseau 71–4 theology, antinomy 80 Waltz, Kenneth 3, 23, 24, 25, 26, Theorie de la Propiété (Proudhon) 27, 29, 91 106, 150 war: causes of 128–32; change in theories of anarchy in IR 21–2 rationalisation of 116; Comte on ‘Theory and Practice’ (Kant) 70 87–9; France at 77; historical Thiers, Adolphe 48, 113 sociology of 112–34; Kant on ‘three R’s,’ and anarchist theory 19 81–3; laws of 125–8; linking with Tilly, Charles 55 justice 133; means of advancement Times Literary Supplement 9 15; moral phenomenology of Tissot, Joseph 70, 101 114–18; Napoleonic 113; primary Tolstoy, Leo 8 motor for social change 161, 163; ‘totalitarian democracy’ 155 Proudhon on 5, 17; and religion Toulain, Henri 150 116–17; revolutionary 77, 83;  Index 223 Rousseau on 75–7; transformation What is property? (Proudhon) 4, 7, 12 of 132–3 Wight, Martin 3, 4, 9, 15, 19, 23 warfare: changes in 57–9; Wilson, Woodrow 28, 43, 59 development in Europe 47; women: and contemporary IR theory evolution of 125–8; industrialisation 34–5; Proudhon on 107–10 5, 51, 57–8, 125–8, 164; worker ‘self-government’ 138 militarisation 65; militarism 131. working classes 120, 132–3, 136; see also military collective force of 151; French 134; Wars of Religion 75 political capacity 153; Proudhon Weber, Max 30 on 164 Weiss, Thomas 37 world today, anarchy in 20–1 Wendt, Alexander 31–2 ‘What is Enlightenment’ (Kant) 70 Zimmer, Oliver 53