66 pages • 2-hour read
Lynn HuntA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of graphic violence.
In 1762, the same year Rousseau introduced the phrase “rights of man,” a French court in Toulouse convicted Jean Calas, a 64-year-old Protestant, of murdering his son Marc-Antoine to prevent his conversion to Catholicism. Calas endured hours of horrific public torture. He died protesting his innocence.
Voltaire took up the case months later, raising funds for the family and publishing his Treatise on Tolerance, in which he argued that religious intolerance could not be a “human right,” his first use of the expression. Initially, Voltaire focused his outrage on religious bigotry rather than the torture or execution methods themselves. The Calas family had discovered Marc-Antoine dead by apparent suicide, but claimed murder to avoid the legal penalties for suicide. Police arrested multiple family members based on inconsistent testimony. Voltaire’s publicity eventually led the Royal Council to acquit the family by 1765. Only then did Voltaire’s focus shift to condemning judicial torture itself, which he first denounced in 1766.
The 1760s marked a turning point across Europe. Prussia had abolished judicial torture in 1754, followed by Sweden (1772), Austria and Bohemia (1776), and France in stages (1780, 1788). Britain ended public processions to Tyburn in 1783, while revolutionary France renounced all torture in 1789 and introduced the guillotine—billed as a humane method of execution—in 1792. Yet before the 1760s, brutal punishments remained ubiquitous. Britain still employed whipping, branding, and execution by drawing and quartering despite the 1689 Bill of Rights’ prohibition of cruel punishment. Colonial America permitted similar punishments, with especially severe penalties for enslaved people. In France, the courts routinely sentenced convicts to public humiliation, branding, whipping, and five different methods of execution, including breaking on the wheel.
The immediate catalyst for reform was Cesare Beccaria’s 1764 Essay on Crimes and Punishments. The 25-year-old Italian aristocrat rejected torture, cruel punishment, and the death penalty, arguing for justice based on “the greatest happiness of the greatest number.” His book, quickly translated and widely read, valorized sentiment and empathy in arguing against torments and useless cruelty. Yet even Enlightenment thinkers like Voltaire did not immediately connect the emerging language of human rights to torture’s cruelty, suggesting that cultural assumptions had inhibited empathy.
The explanation for this delayed recognition lay in a fundamental cultural transformation regarding views of the human body. Bodies gained new positive value as they came to be seen as separate, self-contained, and individualized. After the 14th century, boundaries between bodies grew sharper as individuals developed greater self-control. People increasingly kept bodily excretions private, felt shame about public defecation, and found sleeping with strangers repellent. In the 18th century, new cultural experiences reinforced this trend. After 1750, opera audiences began listening in silence, fostering intense individual emotional responses, rather than responding vocally and collectively to events on stage. Theaters eliminated stage seating in 1759 and installed benches in the pit in 1782 to create order and distance. Home architecture became more private, with specialized bedrooms and private spaces like boudoirs replacing multipurpose rooms.
Portraiture’s proliferation proved particularly significant. After 1750, exhibitions displayed increasing numbers of portraits depicting ordinary people, especially in Britain and the American colonies, where portrait production quadrupled between 1750 and 1776. This surge reflected a growing belief that ordinary individuals possessed distinction simply through their individuality. Portraits shifted from emphasizing status symbols toward natural renderings of psychological uniqueness. The 1786 invention of the physionotrace, a mechanical method of producing profile portraits, further demonstrated the era’s fascination with capturing individual differences.
This cultural shift collided with traditional justifications for judicial torture. French jurist Pierre-François Muyart de Vouglans defended the old system in 1767, arguing against Beccaria that criminal law rested on experience rather than abstract reasoning. Muyart claimed that humanity’s unruly passions could be controlled only through the terror of avenging justice. Public execution served as a sacrificial rite meant to restore moral and political order. The condemned person’s body did not belong solely to the individual but served higher religious and communal purposes. By the late 18th century, however, public executions often devolved into drunken, unruly spectacles that disturbed observers rather than inspiring awe.
A new, secular understanding of pain emerged, in which suffering belonged exclusively to the individual and could not be sacrificed for communal benefit. This shift stemmed from reevaluating the body itself, not from medical advances. Reformers increasingly argued that public punishment brutalized spectators and destroyed empathy. In 1787, Benjamin Rush insisted that private punishment in prisons aimed at rehabilitation better served society, noting that even criminals shared the same human nature as everyone else.
Initially, even pro-Calas defenders accepted torture’s legitimacy, treating his refusal to confess under torture as proof of his innocence. This defense relied on the traditional assumption that bodies in pain speak truth. After 1750, however, scientists and reformers like Beccaria rejected this view, arguing that pain had no connection to moral truth and that the innocent might confess under duress. Beccaria particularly objected to torture’s private administration, which denied public protection to the accused.
The reform campaign accelerated dramatically in the 1760s. Beccaria’s book spawned 28 Italian editions and nine French editions before 1800, plus translations into English, German, Dutch, Polish, and Spanish. His French translator, André Morellet, strategically moved a reference to “the rights of man” to the introduction, framing it as the book’s central purpose. Publications advocating penal reform grew from a handful in the 1760s to 39 in the 1780s. Reformers like Jacques-Pierre Brissot de Warville deployed increasingly strong rhetoric, linking cruel punishments to barbarism and violations of human rights. In 1788, Brissot founded the Society of the Friends of the Blacks—an abolitionist organization—showing how the campaign for penal reform was becoming associated with the general defense of human rights.
During the 1780s, lawyers defending wrongly accused clients adopted novelistic, first-person narratives in their briefs to arouse public empathy and indict the entire legal system. Charles-Marguerite Dupaty’s 1786 brief defending three men condemned to the wheel proved so effective that the Parlement of Paris ordered it publicly burned, though public opinion sided with the reformers. The Marquis de Condorcet published pamphlets supporting Dupaty and denouncing the court’s contempt for humanity. By 1788, even the French monarchy adopted reform language. Criminal code reform became one of the most frequently cited demands in 1789 grievance lists for the Estates-General.
This transformation reflected a profound philosophical shift. The new model of personhood saw emotions and reason as partners rather than antagonists. Passions, grounded in biology, fed moral sensibility, which education could cultivate for humanity’s improvement. This view replaced the traditional model based on original sin and the need to contain inherently evil passions. Benjamin Rush’s 1787 pamphlet articulated the new vision, calling sympathy the vice-regent of divine benevolence. Sympathy provided the foundation for morality. Public punishment destroyed this sympathy by making spectators callous. The abolition of torture thus resulted not merely from legal reform but from a fundamental cultural transformation in which individuals came to be understood as autonomous, inviolable, and connected to others through shared sympathy and fellow feeling.
This chapter advances the book’s central thesis that human rights are an invention rooted in a transformation of sensibility, arguing specifically that the abolition of judicial torture depended upon and facilitated a radical re-conceptualization of the human body. The chapter posits that before torture could be seen as a violation of rights, the body itself had to be redefined—from a public and permeable object in service of a communal, religious order to a private, self-contained vessel of individuality. The traditional spectacle of public execution, exemplified in the text by the public execution of Jean Calas, functioned as a “sacrificial rite” intended to restore social and divine order. In this framework, the individual’s pain was subordinate to the community’s need for reparation. As the Enlightenment ushered in a new conception of bodily autonomy, an individual’s pain became a private, secular experience belonging solely to the sufferer. Hunt uses this shift in attitudes toward torture as an example of a larger set of cultural changes, all tending toward the recognition of the individual as a discrete moral unit with inherent rights.
The analysis connects this new conception of the body to the cultivation of empathy through seemingly unrelated 18th-century cultural practices. The argument is that new forms of art and social behavior provided the training ground that allowed people to imagine other people’s pain, pleasure, desire, and hope as if these experiences were their own. Hunt supports this argument with examples, again turning to external behaviors and tangible artifacts as evidence of changes in mindset: Audiences at musical and theatrical performances begin to watch and listen in silence, fostering individual imagination in place of the collective reactions that had previously attended such events; meanwhile, the dramatic increase in portraits of ordinary people, and the stylistic shift away from depicting status toward capturing “psychological and physiognomical individuality” (89), habituated viewers to the idea that every person possessed a unique and valuable interiority. This aesthetic education in recognizing the selfhood of others created the empathetic capacity necessary to see that the people being tortured on the scaffold “possessed souls and bodies composed of the same materials as those of our friends and relations” (76). Connecting macro-level legal change to micro-level shifts in cultural consumption is central to the book’s larger project, illustrating that political revolutions are often preceded by revolutions in sensibility.
For Hunt, political change is inextricable from changes in language and thought that appear at first glance to take place outside the political sphere. New ways of producing and responding to art made the notion of human rights conceivable, and this growing political awareness in turn fuels the expansion of empathy in art, culture, and daily life. In an example of art influencing politics, arguments against judicial cruelty shifted away from procedural legal debate and toward sentimental narratives designed to provoke public outrage. The evolving discourse around the Calas affair serves as a primary example; Voltaire’s initial objections based on religious intolerance eventually gave way to a broader condemnation of the cruelty of the system itself. This trend culminated in the novelistic legal briefs of the 1780s. For Hunt, the introduction of emotional, first-person accounts into the courtroom represents a broader cultural shift toward empathy as a basis for legal and political decisions. This rhetorical strategy effectively bypassed the logic of precedent and tradition, which defended torture, and appealed instead to the public’s developing moral sensibility, casting Empathy as the Engine of Rights. By framing the legal system as barbaric and its victims as suffering innocents, these narratives cast the abolition of torture as an urgent moral imperative, demonstrating that the political traction of human rights depends on storytelling that translates abstract principles into visceral, emotional experience.
Underpinning this historical narrative is a philosophical dialectic between two opposing models of personhood. The chapter frames the debate over torture as an epistemological conflict between a traditional worldview and an emerging Enlightenment perspective. The traditionalist position, articulated by the jurist Pierre-François Muyart de Vouglans, deploys the religious doctrine of original sin as a justification for unchecked state power over the individual body, arguing that human passions are inherently unruly and must be controlled by the external force of an “avenging justice” to maintain social order. In this model, the individual is subordinate to the community and the state. In direct opposition stands the new model, expressed by figures like the Philadelphia revolutionary thinker Benjamin Rush, who re-conceptualized the passions as the foundation of morality. For Rush, sympathy (or empathy, in present-day usage) is “the vice-regent of the divine benevolence in our world” (109), an innate faculty that education can cultivate. Public punishment, from this perspective, is destructive because it desensitizes spectators and thereby erodes the very basis of social feeling. By juxtaposing Rush’s view with that of Muyart de Vouglans, Hunt highlights the stakes of the debate over torture. The abolition of torture becomes the political triumph of a new conception of the relationship between the individual and the state—one that posits a perfectible, autonomous, and empathetic individual as the basis for a humane legal and social order.
The chapter’s argument synthesizes diverse forms of evidence to build a multi-causal explanation for the rise of human rights. Instead of a linear narrative of legal or political events, the chapter weaves together intellectual history, art history, and the history of social customs. The structure moves thematically from a visceral case study (Calas) to the cultural preconditions for a new sensibility (portraiture, architecture) and finally to the political campaigns that codified this new feeling into law. What begins in empathy for specific individuals is soon universalized in the form of law, illustrating another of the book’s major themes: The Tendency of Rights to Become More Inclusive over time. This approach challenges traditional, top-down historical accounts by asserting that profound legal transformations are rooted in the mundane experiences that shape how individuals perceive themselves and others. A change in theater seating or the use of a handkerchief is presented as causally linked to the rejection of a centuries-old judicial practice. In doing so, the chapter demonstrates that the concept of human rights is not the product of a single philosopher or declaration, but the outcome of a widespread and complex evolution in the cultural imagination.



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