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8 min read

How justice shaped a world of rights

Historian John Coffey talks about his contribution to a new book: Justice & Rights.

Nick is the senior editor of Seen & Unseen.

A statue of a woman holding a spear in one hand a lightening bolt in the others that reads: 'Droits de  l'homme'.
A French statute celebrating Human Rights.
DDP on Unsplash.

In our networked world old problems, and new ideas to solve them, flash across our minds and screens. It can be a hectic and dis-orientating feeling that occurs when we try to make sense of it all. Whether it's the global order changing or yet another injustice occurring. 

Seeking insights on all this means crossing boundaries, and that’s what over 160 scholars do by sharing with each other. The members of the Global Faculty Initiative (GFI), drawn from all faculties usual in great universities, integrate faith and scholarship through dialogues. They examine the themes of justice, order, flourishing and beauty - mixing subject matter expertise in everything from physics to public policy. 

The GFI has just published the results of one such dialogue in a book Justice and Rights. Among the contributors is Professor John Coffey. His work explores the history of religion and the big ideas like justice and rights. Recently he talked with GFI coordinator Bethan Willis, on its Justice podcast series. Here’s an extract of the discussion that looks at the ‘genealogy of rights.’    

 

Bethan Willis  So, shifting focus now to the question of rights, particularly. So, you talk in your Brief about the genealogy of rights, and in his Theology Brief, Nicholas Wolterstorff makes a case for placing rights at the centre of our understanding of justice, but that's obviously not an uncontested move. And some people would see a focus on rights as problematic, and part of the debate about the legitimacy or the value of rights can sometimes centre around the question of where rights actually come from. So which period in history, which philosophy and vision of human life and justice gives rise to this language. So can you tell us a little bit about that kind of trajectory that you've set out in your Brief , the different points at which people might identify rights as coming to the fore and why that happens and the various interests at play in these discussions of where rights come from?  

John Coffey   So it can be very confusing if you read the scholarship on this subject because if you listen to someone like Samuel Moyne, he will argue that the human rights revolution of the 1970s really invents human rights or maybe grudgingly the 1940s and the conservative statesmen who created the UN declaration of human rights in that period. Others, of course, would root it in the enlightenment. And I guess this is a classic answer. It's the enlightenment and the French Revolution with its Declaration of Rights of Man and Citizen, which is really at the heart of the story of rights. But then early modernists and medievalists pushback, they see natural rights language, the idea of individual subjective rights that one has simply on the basis of one's humanity. These are distinct from legal rights, but they're individual natural rights that they would see this concept emerging in the Middle Ages with canon lawyers and Juris and so on, and then being embraced by various 17th, 16th, 17th century groups up to Locke.  

And I think there are different things going on here. One, of course, is that there are turf wars between historians in different periods who want to draw attention to their period as being really seminal in various ways. People have talked about the revenge of the medievalists, the early modernists and the Renaissance specialists who made so much emphasis on this being a radical break from the dark mediaeval past that mediaevalists have always been keen to push back against that and to point to the mediaeval roots of a lot of modern concepts. But I think there's also more going on here. I think in some ways it's part of a bigger argument about political and to some extent economic liberalism as well, because rights language has been so important for liberals, whether they're talking about politics or talking about economics. So, you have an example of rival genealogies being used for political purposes, if you like, to both problematize and legitimize, right?  

BW  Your work is focused on the contributions that religious groups have made to politics and ideas. And you particularly reference the Levellers in the 17th century and the abolitionists at the turn of the 18th, 19th century. Can you tell us a bit about the contribution that Christians may have made to the development of rights and particularly to the rights of freedom of conscious thought and belief in particular?  

JC  Yeah, yeah. I think it's important to emphasize this because there's also been a long tradition of suspicion of rights language among Christians, especially in the wake of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution. I mean, this has obviously been true in the Catholic church in the 19th century where there was deep suspicion of liberalism and the individualism associated with it and rights language was regarded with a great deal of suspicion by many traditionalist Catholics. But it's also true in Protestant circles as well, among some high Anglicans. But you could see it in the Dutch Calvinist tradition, they founded an anti-revolutionary party after the French Revolution, which is very critical of the political language which emerges from that event. So, it's interesting to see how historians and intellectual historians in recent decades have recovered what you might call the theological origins of rights talk. And that's true of people like Brian Tierney writing about the mediaeval era and showing the kind of seminal influence of various mediaeval theorists of natural law, but also natural rights.  

And certainly, when you get to the period I'm most familiar with from the 17th century onwards, groups like the Levellers are not just talking about native rights or legal rights that they have as Freeborn Englishmen. They're also talking about universal natural human rights that individuals have on the basis of their humanity. And it's in that period in the 17th century that people begin really for the first time to talk about freedom of religion as a natural right. I mean, you don't see that in the Middle Ages. It's a development that emerges within particularly radical Protestantism in the 17th century. Though interestingly, it's also tied to the idea of duties. So because we have a duty to worship God according to our conscience, consciences must be left free and the individual must have a natural right to worship God according to their conscience, because otherwise they wouldn't be able to please God if they just follow the dictates of the state or the state church that they wouldn't be able to worship in a way that's pleasing to God. So, it is interesting the way the argument works. It's theistic grounded in a sense, but it applies not just to Christians, it applies to other kinds of religious worship, to Jews, to Muslims, to heathens and so on. 

And you can see more widely a theological grounding for rights in figures like Locke. And that's encapsulated, obviously famously in the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson drafted in 1776, that ‘all men are created equal and endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights’. So, this idea that we have certain rights that we cannot transfer over to the state, that we can alienate them over to the state, they're inalienable, and we have a solemn responsibility before God to protect them. So yeah, I mean, it's certainly by the 18th century, this rights language is absolutely flourishing within Protestant circles, and you can see it being taken up quite significantly in the abolitionist movement in the 1780s, though people are also shying away from it in the 1790s because of the French Revolution and Tom Payne's rights of man and so on. But if you read 19th century American religious abolitionists, people like Frederick Douglas or William Lloyd Garrison or others, they're using the language of natural rights, pretty insistently.  

BC  And it's often to articulate the kind of victim's perspective, isn't it, to defend the weak against the mighty and to say there's a bigger kind of justice that is beyond the state or the law. Is that right? Can you tell us a bit about how that works?  

JC  Yeah, no, I think that's absolutely right, and it's one reason why we should be wary about just tossing, tossing rights language out as some kind of secular poisoning of the, well, a, it does have some deep roots in Christian thought, but it also, rights language is also designed as one of the weapons of the weak, if you like. It's a way to defend those whose claims are often ignored and to assert their human dignity. So, it's why it gets taken up so much by religious minorities, by those who are pushing for widening the vote and suffrage maybe to all men, maybe eventually to women. The anti-slavery movement is using it, and of course, by the 20th century, the Civil Rights movement.  

BC  But as you said, Wilberforce himself doesn't really use this language much, partly because the arenas he's speaking in and partly because of these associations with the French Revolution. Is that right?  

JC  Yeah, and if you look in the 1790s, it's interesting because it's from that period really the language of left and right starts to emerge, and those on the right are very much concerned about law and order. They look across at France and they see disorder and the guillotine and regicide and Civil War and the exile of Catholic priests and so on, and it's extremely alarming for them. So, the emphasis very much shown law and order, and they become extremely alarmed by the way that rights language has been used to undermine order. So, it's classically articulated at that divide between Edmund Burke on the one side and Tom Payne on the other. What's interesting in the British context, is you'll find sort of devout Protestant Christians on both sides of that. So, Wilberforce would be very much on Burke's side in this argument, but the founder of the London corresponding society in the 1790s, a man called Thomas Hardy, he's actually a devout Scottish Calvinist, and he's absolutely on board with this rights language. And so different religious groups will be divided over this. 

 

Follow the rest of John and Bethan's conversation on the GFI podcast.

Global Faculty Initiative resources

Justice & Rights is published by  Langham Publishing. See the link below to order.

The Justice series on the GFI Podcast features six episodes. Listen on Spotify.

Explore the GFI matrix of academic subjects and themes

Review
Art
Culture
Royalty
Weirdness
5 min read

From witchcraft to statecraft: inside the mind of King James

A new exhibition examines art the monarch commissioned and inspired

Susan is a writer specialising in visual arts and contributes to Art Quarterly, The Tablet, Church Times and Discover Britain.

A portrait of King James VI, his eyes fix the viewer.
King James, by an unknown artist.
National Galleries of Scotland.

James IV and I devoted his twenties to trying to rid his kingdom of witchcraft. And 400 years after his death, witches continue to cast a long shadow over his reign. While James’ beliefs on evil developed and refined over his 58-year reign, his reputation as solely a torture and femicide perpetrator remains stubbornly hard to shift. For many, identification with the abused, marginalised- yet- magical trumps all other historical considerations. 

In the exhibition World of James VI and I, the National Gallery of Scotland presents a more rounded picture of the cradle king, who gained the throne of Scotland at 13 months old and became the first joint monarch of Scotland and England in 1603, on the death of Elizabeth I. The beginning of James’ reign in England saw the first productions of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, King Lear and The Tempest. Inigo Jones’ appointment as Surveyor of the King’s Work introduced the classical architecture of Rome to the country, designing The Queen’s House in Greenwich and the Banqueting House at Whitehall. 

The painted ceiling of the Banqueting House by Peter Paul Rubens provides insight into James’ preoccupations. Commissioned by James in 1621, the tennis court sized series was installed in 1636 becoming a memorial to the late King. In The Apotheosis of James I, the King is depicted ascending into heaven on a giant eagle belonging to Jupiter, ruler of the Roman gods. The winged figure of Victory, together with a figure representing Great Britain hold a laurel wreath above the King’s head, in exchange for his earthly crown. Parallels between the King and divine power are explicit, underlined by the figure of Religion holding the freshly translated Bible showing the first words of St John’s gospel ‘In the beginning’ (was the Word). In a side panel to The Union of the Crowns, where the King is presented in a Biblical setting, Minerva, goddess of wisdom is stamping on Ignorance, represented by an old woman, naked and floored. 

Rubens’ identification of an old woman as low status and powerless did not come out of thin air. In the social hierarchy of seventeenth century northern Europe, most ordinary people had few rights and women had next to none, entitled only to the legal protection of their husband’s rank. But lack of rights did not prevent women from influencing their communities’ moral tone. The victims of the infamous East Berwick witch trials in 1590-92 and Pendle witch trials in 1612, first came to the attention of authority through accusations and feuds within their own communities. 

Daemonologie, published in Edinburgh in 1597, was written following James perceived experiences of witchcraft when storms imperilled his voyage from Denmark to Scotland, returning with his new 15-year-old bride Anne. It is believed the King was involved in interrogations of witchcraft suspects in East Berwick, authorising their torture and execution. One suspect’s ability to recount a conversation from the royal bridal chamber, convinced James the accused were the tools of diabolical powers intent on killing the royal couple. Beliefs around women’s inherent weakness, positioned them as easier prey for malevolent forces:  

‘sexe is frailer than man is, so is easier to be intrapped in these grosse snares of the Devill’ 

In later life James became more sceptical about claims of witchcraft and demonic possession, and searched for evidence to discount what was only the work of fantasy and attention-seeking. 

But the King’s family history and tumultuous times he lived through, made the road to discernment a long and winding one. James last saw his mother, Mary Queen of Scots as an 11-month-old infant. His father Lord Darnley was killed in a mysterious explosion, possibly arranged by his own wife. Mary was imprisoned in England by Elizabeth I and executed in 1587 at Fotheringhay Castle in Northamptonshire. In the lead up to his marriage James lamented that as a child he was ‘alone, without father, mother, brother or sister.’ 

The normalcy of removing troublesome relatives is illustrated by a 1605 portrait of Lady Arabella Stuart, attributed to Robert Peake the Elder. The King’s cousin died in the Tower in 1615, where James had her imprisoned, in case her marriage to William Seymour gave her too strong a claim on the throne. 

Today’s witches on Etsy may feel they are reclaiming a lineage of folk wisdom and reparation for past wrongs. But willingly stepping into the scapegoat role...  has no historical precedent.

Death also stalked James and Anne’s family, with only two out of their seven children surviving into adulthood. Their eldest son and heir Prince Henry Frederick died aged 18, and was mourned throughout Europe in the decades that followed the death in 1612, as he was seen as the great hope of the continent’s future.  

The World of King James VI and I is full of visual meditations on death. On entering visitors are greeted with Livinius de Vogalaare’s The Memorial of Lord Darnley, 1567, a substantial canvas, with a crowned, grey-robed infant James, kneeling before his father’s coffin. Darnley’s effigy with hands in prayer lies on top the casket, unicorns either side of his head. An engraving of Prince Henry Frederick’s Hearse, 1640 copy from 1612 original, shows the richly decorated hearse, complete with a wax effigy dressed in the prince’s clothes, which was accompanied by 2000 mourners as it made its way to Westminster Abbey. Eighteenth century artist James Mynde’s engraving The Mausoleum of James VI and I, illustrates the Jacobean era’s fondness for lavishly dressed effigies of the deceased, surrounded by figures of classical deities. 

Charm stones, believed to cure sickness in people and animals, formed part of James’ cosmology, together with the new translation of the Bible he commissioned, intended to sound beautiful for this age of oracy. James advocated for Protestantism and the reformation, while being in regular communication with the Papacy. He also brought a more English style of worship to the independent-minded Scottish kirk, insisting they used chalices and altar cloths. The monarch was devout, yet flexible, in his Christian beliefs. 

A simple reading of the Jacobean court is not possible. It was a place of ritualised gift-giving, with ciphered and initialled jewels indicating who was in or out of favour, whose power was rising, and whose power was waning. James believed he was sent by God to rule and protect his people, and felt justified in extinguishing anyone or anything threatening his divine project. Self -proclaimed, or community-nominated witches provided useful scapegoats for discontent around James’ rule, underlined in 1605 by the Gunpowder Plot. 

Today’s witches on Etsy may feel they are reclaiming a lineage of folk wisdom and reparation for past wrongs. But willingly stepping into the scapegoat role and presenting a blank screen for the dark projections of the powerful, has no historical precedent for bringing liberty or social transformation. Cos-playing the historically marginalised will not make things better for today’s excluded and underserved, but focusing on down to earth, earthly political and economic power will. 

 

The World of James I and VI, National Galleries of Scotland, until 14 September.