The idea that land is a “God-given” right has been the ultimate trump card for rulers, conquerors, and elites for centuries. Whether through feudal oaths, biblical covenants, or nationalist manifestos, the claim of divine or hereditary entitlement has shaped empires, sparked wars, and left millions dispossessed. This article traces how these narratives evolved—from medieval Europe’s fiefs to the Zionist Promised Land, from the Doctrine of Discovery to modern ethnonationalism—and asks: who really benefits from heavenly real estate deals?

Feudalism: Divine right as a bureaucratic hack

In medieval Europe, feudalism wasn’t just a system—it was a vibe. Kings, lacking bureaucracies, outsourced governance to nobles, who swore oaths of loyalty in exchange for land. The catch? Everyone pretended this was God’s will. William the Conqueror, for instance, claimed all England as his “divine right” after 1066, redistributing it to Norman lords who, in turn, demanded fealty from knights and serfs. The Church sanctified this hierarchy, preaching that social order was ordained—convenient for nobles collecting rents from peasants who couldn’t read the fine print on their celestial lease.

Global twist: Japan’s shogunate mimicked this with daimyos (warlords) ruling fiefs under the emperor’s nominal divine authority, while Ethiopian Ras lords used Orthodox Christian theology to justify land grabs.

Conditional covenants and colonialism

Biblical land promises have been weaponised more creatively than a Swiss Army knife. Ancient Israel’s claim to Canaan was framed as a divine reward—if they obeyed God’s laws (Deuteronomy 28:15-68). Fast-forward to 19th-century Zionism, and the same narrative justified displacing Palestinian fellahin (peasants), despite the Bible’s own caveat: “the land is Mine; you are but foreigners living in it” (Leviticus 25:23).

Spanish conquistadors cited the Doctrine of Discovery (1493) to seize indigenous lands in the Americas, arguing that non-Christians couldn’t own property—a divine loophole that enriched the Crown and the Vatican. Meanwhile, Boer settlers in South Africa invoked a “chosen people” myth to justify apartheid, blending Calvinism with land enclosures.

The VIP lounge of history

The label “chosen” has been slapped on more groups than a discount bin. Medieval nobles claimed divine favour to hoard land; Puritan colonists called themselves a “city upon a hill” while expelling Native Americans; and Rwanda’s pre-colonial Tutsi elite used Hamitic myths to frame themselves as born rulers.

Irony alert: These claims often backfired. France’s nobility lost their heads after the Revolution proved “divine right” wasn’t bulletproof. Similarly, Liberia’s Americo-Liberian elite, who styled themselves as Africa’s “chosen” saviours, were toppled in 1980 by those they’d excluded.

From enclosures to ethnostates

Feudalism never died—it just got a rebranding. England’s Enclosure Acts (18th century) privatised common lands, pushing peasants into factories while landlords cashed in—a move Adam Smith called “improvement” (read: eviction). Today, tech billionaires buy up New Zealand bunkers, echoing medieval lords retreating to castles during plagues.

21st-century twists: India’s caste system still ties Dalits to landless labour, while Israel’s mizrahi Jews protest Ashkenazi elites controlling most land—proving divine hierarchies outlive their heavenly mandates.

When the serfs strike back

Peasants weren’t always docile. England’s 1381 Peasants’ Revolt saw rebels torch manorial records shouting, “When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?”. Mexico’s Zapatistas reclaimed indigenous lands under the slogan “¡Tierra y Libertad!"—mocking Porfirio Díaz’s feudal haciendas. Even the Bible got subverted: liberation theologians in Latin America reimagined Exodus as a manifesto for land reform.

My conclusion

The “God-given” land narrative seems to be the ultimate flex: divine, unassailable, and suspiciously profitable for those invoking it. Yet history shows these claims are less about celestial deeds and more about power—often crumbling when the oppressed stop believing in the paperwork. As Karl Marx dryly noted, “the tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living.” The next time someone cites a birthright, I will ask: Which god, and where’s the receipt?

Resources

Disclaimer

I consider myself spiritual, though not religious. I see life as part of a great cosmic loop. I’m drawn to the patterns that shape us, not to doctrines. If that sounds more Sufi than Sunday school, you’re probably right. This piece touches on unintended religious consequences — not with hostility, but curiosity. Patterns don’t need permission to repeat. We can still learn from them.