Did all of Hong Kong’s disqualified lawmakers flout the basics of oath-taking?
Ryan Mitchell says an oath’s ultimate value rests on the hope that it will inspire consensus among reasonable political actors, but over-zealous prosecutions of minor variations could have the opposite effect
In the summer of 1789, France was in political crisis, with seemingly no prospect for a compromise. In this tense scenario, the members of the French Third Estate, representing all of the people aside from the clergy, nobility, and the king, arrived on the morning of June 20 to find that the army had locked them out of their own legislative chamber.
Suddenly barred from the affairs of government, the deputies sought the closest approximation to an assembly hall they could find.
Reconvening in a nearby tennis court, they then jointly vowed “not to separate, and to reassemble wherever circumstances require, until the constitution of the kingdom is established”.
This “Tennis Court Oath” was memorialised in an unfinished painting by the great artist of the French Revolution, Jacques-Louis David. With a sea of raised hands around the speaker, who reads from a text that seems to radiate authority, the image embodies the idea that the united people are the root of all legitimate government.
Despite this symbolic importance, oaths (unlike contracts) have no well-developed set of legal doctrines. As early as the 17th century, political theorist Thomas Hobbes noted that “the Oath addes nothing to the Obligation”. Consequently, it is often difficult to assess arguments about a given oath’s validity.