When law begins to resemble an oracle

For law to function as an instrument of freedom, personal customization must be avoided. The moment a law summons to mind a particular individual, its fairness is called into question.

Lee Hyun-sang

The author is the head of the editorial board at the JoongAng Ilbo.

In Herodotus’ “Histories” (c. 440 B.C.), there is a tale about Croesus, the king of Lydia. After offering gold to the oracle at Delphi, he asked whether he should attack Persia. The Pythia delivered her prophecy: if Croesus crossed the Halys River, he would destroy a great empire. Encouraged, he marched into war and suffered a crushing defeat. Barely escaping with his life, Croesus returned to the temple and demanded an explanation. The oracle answered that the great empire destined to fall was not Persia, but Lydia.

President Lee Jae Myung, center, speaks during a Cabinet meeting at the Yongsan presidential office in central Seoul on Dec. 9. [PRESIDENTIAL OFFICE]

The story is often cited to illustrate the danger of ambiguous prophecy and the hubris of human interpretation. The “law distortion” offense proposed by the Democratic Party (DP) carries the same flavor of ambiguity. Terms like “intentional distortion” or “significant abuse of prosecutorial authority” are vague enough to create a chilling effect on judges, prosecutors and investigators. When language lacks clarity, interpretation becomes an instrument of power. Ambiguity becomes the space where authority operates.

President Lee Jae Myung, center, speaks during a Cabinet meeting at the Yongsan presidential office in central Seoul on Dec. 9. [PRESIDENTIAL OFFICE]

The same concern applies to the proposed special tribunal for insurrection cases. The banner of speed and efficiency conceals an unmistakable political motive. Random assignment of judges is a foundational safeguard of judicial fairness. Renaming a “special court” as a “dedicated tribunal” does not alter its essence. Creating a tailored panel for a specific case exerts pressure toward a predetermined outcome. Although the plan has been paused due to backlash, senior ruling-party figures such as Jung Chung-rae and Choo Mi-ae continue to signal that they will push ahead. President Lee Jae Myung has also said he favors installing such panels, beginning with appellate trials.

This sustained pressure on the judiciary ultimately targets one individual: former president Yoon Suk Yeol. Others implicated as “accomplices” exist, but they were swept up in a sudden political storm triggered by a single actor. One of the essential conditions of law is universality. Even the worst offenders must be judged through procedures that allow the public to accept the outcome. If urgency becomes a justification for weakening universal safeguards, the judiciary risks becoming a servant of political power. There are, of course, exceptional circumstances — such as postwar prosecution of crimes against humanity — when legal generality is temporarily suspended. But however outrageous Yoon’s imposition of martial law may have been, equating it with the genocidal barbarism of the Nazis is an untenable leap.

The ruling bloc is also crafting laws aimed at protecting another political figure positioned opposite Yoon: the sitting president. Courts may sometimes suspend proceedings against an incumbent for reasons of national stability. Yet, the DP seeks to go further by amending the Criminal Procedure Act to halt all criminal trials involving a sitting president. Moves to delete the offense of spreading false information in election law or to raise the threshold for invalidating an election result to a fine of 10 million won follow the same logic. The prosecution’s withdrawal of its Daejang-dong appeal represents the apex of tailoring procedural outcomes for specific individuals. Whether the purpose is punishment or protection, the law becomes patchwork the moment it is customized. Such tailoring undermines Korea’s hard-won status as an advanced democracy.

The Roman statesman Cicero wrote, “We are slaves to the law so that we may be free.” For law to function as an instrument of freedom, personal customization must be avoided. The moment a law summons to mind a particular individual, its fairness is called into question. Modern constitutional states insist on general and abstract norms for precisely this reason.

President Lee Jae Myung, right, greets Democratic Party leader Jung Chung-rae as he leaves the National Assembly after delivering the government’s 2026 budget address on Nov. 4. [YONHAP]

Hard-liners within the ruling camp argue that elements in the judiciary, the prosecution or remnants of martial law forces threaten democracy and must, therefore, be checked by parliamentary power. This mirrors the logic of “defensive democracy,” familiar from 20th-century history. Yet, it is doubtful that outdated martial law factions constitute a real threat today. Indeed, the People Power Party itself is demonstrating how regressive behavior limits political expansion. If the ruling camp still senses danger, the likelier explanations are profound misjudgment or a desire to leverage fear for other ends.

Voters chose Lee Jae Myung to restore democratic stability after Yoon Suk Yeol’s martial law episode plunged the country into turmoil. His early emphasis on national unity reflected that expectation. Yet, the president has recently shifted tone, saying reform “strips away the skin” and that friction is unavoidable when correcting entrenched injustice. These comments align him with pressure on the judiciary rather than restraint. Beneath this stance lies a belief among ruling-party hard-liners that they alone possess a monopoly on righteous purpose — a kind of modern political oracle. And within that conviction, the seeds of a deeper rupture may already be growing.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.