Madame Justice

Justice. A concept as sacred as it is secular, as ancient as it is urgent. At the foundations of our civilization lies a time when justice was not a function of the state, but the very axis of the cosmic order itself. It is here that the age — old clash — at times a conflict, at others an embrace — between Temporal Power and Spiritual Power reveals itself. From the medieval period onward, and even earlier, the legitimacy of justice rested on two sources: Divine Law (guarded and administered by the Church or the clergy as an emanation of a higher will) and Civil Law (issued by the Emperor, the King, or the Res Publica).

This duality shaped not only political philosophy but everyday life. If Temporal Power — the Sword — was charged with maintaining order in the here and now, punishing murder and theft with physical punishments, Spiritual Power — the Pastoral — aimed at eternal justice, judging sin and the salvation of the soul. Justice thus became a point of both friction and balance. A ruler could be considered truly righteous only when their laws reflected divine morality, while an ecclesiastic, in turn, was obliged to honor civil authority in secular matters.

Today, the echo of global crises — from unforeseen conflicts to economic disparities that tear at the social fabric — has made the call for justice unavoidable. We are no longer speaking only of codes and courtrooms, but of a moral demand, of equity in its broadest sense. In the contemporary world, justice appears as an unfinished mosaic. The scales too often seem tipped by the weight of power, and the blindfold, regrettably, does not always symbolize impartiality. At times, it represents a tragic blindness to the suffering of the most vulnerable.

The images that reach us daily are our new frescoes: real-time dramas that question the deepest meaning of ius suum cuique tribuit — to render to each his/her due. Yet it is in art, that emotional and intellectual sounding board we call history, that the concept of Justice has found its most sublime and austere form. We move across centuries in an iconographic journey that invites comparison without fear.

Giotto, in the Scrovegni Chapel, depicts Justice as an ethical presence rooted in Christian morality. He presents her as a majestic female figure, seated on a throne of severe lines that mirror her incorruptibility.

The contemplative expression on her lips is not detachment but a reminder of deep responsibility. The perfectly balanced scales symbolize flawless equity, rewarding virtue and condemning wrongdoing. In the fresco, Giotto links Justice to Charity, Temperance, and Prudence: justice is not the arid application of rules, but must be infused with compassion, restraint, and discernment — core values of Spiritual Power. It is the ideal of justice as the ordering of the common good, essential to both earthly and eternal salvation.

However, the Middle Ages gradually gave way to civic humanism. Cosmic order must become urban order. The sublime balance of the Renaissance finds its fullest expression in Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura in the Vatican, where the harmony of knowledge between Theology and Jurisprudence is celebrated. Here, Justice rises in all her intellectual dignity as Divine Justice, the source and origin of every human law. The sword is raised—not brandished threateningly—but as a gesture of potentiality and legitimacy of judicial power, acknowledged by both the Papacy and the States. The inscription Ius suum cuique tribuit encapsulates this vision of supreme balance: true justice is legitimized in heaven (Spiritual Power), then descends to order the earth through canon and civil law (Temporal Power), achieving an almost perfect synthesis between the two realms. However, this harmony is destined to fracture.

Cicero

In the Baroque era, the urgency becomes the explicit triumph of Good over Evil. Bernardino Mei (1625–1676), with his Allegory of Justice, transports us into a space saturated with emotional tension and carnal splendor. Here, Justice is no longer an austere classical figure, but a living body, taut with action, wrapped in shifting, theatrical drapery that amplifies form and movement. Mei charges the scene with pathos and dynamism. Justice lifts her knee and arches her torso with almost physical force. She is a powerful, exposed, triumphant figure whose strength is not merely moral but intensely sensual. Agitated fabrics, vibrating light, and a resolute expression give her an aura of inescapable fate. This is a justice that does not merely judge but actively fights. It becomes a moral agent in an age of deep social and religious upheaval, when Spiritual Power demanded a decisive influence over the ethical and judicial rigor of Temporal Power.

These works are far more than mere decoration. They are founding acts. And here lies the point—the true story. They show us, and show themselves, how Justice has alternately been ideal, power, and the very foundation of civilization, always at the center of the dialogue between earthly authority and transcendent moral order. This is the thesis that supports the very framework of Western civilization. “The foundation of justice is faith, that is, constancy and sincerity in keeping what has been said and agreed upon.” (Cicero)

Opening image: Bernardino Mei, Allegory of Justice, 1656, private collection. Courtesy Wikipedia