Article VI: Supremacy, Oaths, and Other Things We Pretend to Believe In
When the Constitution says “supreme law of the land,” it doesn’t mean “unless your governor
The Most Ignored Fine Print in American History
Hey, it's me, Skippy Esq. (like that fancy new tile I bestowed upon myself?) Let’s get this out of the way up front: Article VI is boring. It doesn’t have sexy clauses about free speech or the right to bear armories. There are no flashy promises of liberty or due process. It’s not the kind of thing that gets tattooed on a bicep next to a bald eagle. It’s just three sentences buried near the end of the Constitution—but those three sentences are the duct tape holding the whole damn document together!
Article VI is where the Founders finally said, "Enough with every state playing constitutional Mad Libs—here’s the real script." It’s where they made it clear that federal law is not a suggestion. That public servants swear loyalty to the Constitution, not a personality cult. And that you don’t have to pass a Jesus quiz to hold office. In short, it’s the part that keeps America from becoming 50 sovereign banana republics with dueling TikTok laws and theological litmus tests.
Naturally, we ignore it constantly.
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The Supremacy Clause: It’s Not a Debate, Karen
The first chunk of Article VI is the Supremacy Clause. Here’s what it says, for those playing along at home:
“This Constitution, and the Laws of the United States… shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby…”
Translation: Federal law is the final word. Period. States can’t just pass contradictory laws because they think they’re special. You don’t get to write “but I don’t wanna” in Sharpie over federal statutes.
This clause was a direct response to the chaos of the Articles of Confederation1, where states acted like independent countries and treated national law like a group project they could bail on. The Founders—having survived that circus—decided they needed one law to rule them all. They didn’t want states nullifying federal tax codes or deciding, “Nah, we don’t do Supreme Court decisions here.”
Today, of course, nullification is back like it never left. Missouri passed a so-called “Second Amendment Preservation Act”2 that declares federal gun laws null and void inside state borders. That’s not just unconstitutional; it’s make-believe scribbled into state code and signed with a straight face. Texas tried to claim it could ignore federal immigration enforcement. And red states across the country keep pretending they have the authority to veto national rules they don’t like.
That’s not federalism. That’s a toddler with a sheriff badge and a copy of the Constitution he skimmed on Facebook.
The Supremacy Clause doesn’t say, “Unless your state is really passionate about it.” It doesn’t include a “religious exemption” or “unless there’s a Trump rally this weekend.” It says federal law is supreme. End of story. Every state judge, every state official, every mouth-breather with a gavel and an ego is bound by it—even if Tucker Carlson has thoughts.
The Oath Clause: Swear to the Document, Not the Demagogue
Next up is the Oath Clause. This is the part where everyone from the President down to your town’s mosquito control commissioner has to swear an oath to uphold the Constitution.
Let’s quote it:
“The Senators and Representatives… and all executive and judicial Officers… shall be bound by Oath or Affirmation, to support this Constitution…”
This clause was meant to ensure that no matter where you serve—in Congress, in the White House, in the Nebraska State Fairgrounds—you serve the Constitution. Not your political party. Not your favorite podcast. Not your spiritual leader, unless James Madison has a resurrection plan nobody told me about.
But here in our Stupidest Timeline, oaths to the Constitution are treated like TSA disclaimers—something you mumble through so you can get to the real work of pushing your agenda. Politicians treat the Constitution like a vibe, not a contract. Some wear pocket-sized copies as accessories while voting to ignore half of it.
We’ve seen officials refuse to certify lawful elections because they didn’t like the result. We’ve seen state attorneys general refuse to defend constitutional rights because it conflicts with their “personal values.” And we’ve seen federal lawmakers pledge loyalty to Trump—as if the Constitution were a fan club newsletter they can unsubscribe from when they’re feeling moody.
Let’s be clear: the oath doesn’t care about your personal beliefs. If your worldview makes you flinch at enforcing civil rights, you are not a patriot. You’re a constitutional hazard.
The No Religious Test Clause: Theocrats Need Not Apply
Now for the sleeper clause:
“No religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.”
This one doesn’t get as much airtime, probably because it’s too short to tweet and too awkward for Christian nationalists to explain. But it’s one of the boldest declarations in the entire Constitution.
You don’t need to be Christian, Jewish, Muslim, atheist, agnostic, or a worshipper of sentient cheeseburgers to hold office in the United States. The government is not in the business of issuing theology quizzes.
Of course, that hasn’t stopped politicians from trying to turn this country into a de facto theocracy. We’ve seen local and state officials require “biblical worldview” pledges. We’ve seen candidates attacked not for their policies, but for failing to name-drop Jesus like He’s polling in swing states.
The Religious Test Clause wasn’t just about keeping religion out of hiring decisions. It was a shield against religious tyranny—against exactly the kind of performative piety that now dominates half our political discourse. If a Senate candidate has to prove how much he loves Jesus to get elected, we are already violating the spirit of Article VI, even if no one's formally administering the test.
The Founders—many of whom were religious themselves—explicitly rejected the idea that you had to pass a faith check to serve. They didn’t want American democracy turning into a church raffle with ballots. And yet here we are, watching political candidates compete in public Bible-thumping contests like it’s the Constitutional version of America’s Got Talent.
“But if there’s no religious test, then why do they swear on the Bible? Isn’t that, like, mandatory?”
Because Karen, swearing on a Bible isn’t the test — it’s the prop. The Constitution requires an oath or affirmation to support the Constitution. That’s it. The Bible is optional. You can swear on a Quran, a copy of Harry Potter, or a cheese sandwich if it makes you feel sufficiently solemn.3
In fact, the whole reason “affirmation” is included is to protect people with religious objections to oaths or holy books. You know — Quakers, atheists, rational adults, that sort of thing. The Founders literally baked in secular flexibility so nobody had to pretend belief in a deity just to serve their country.
The Bible thing? That’s tradition, not law. It’s civic theater. And if your democracy collapses because a senator used their grandmother’s cookbook instead of a Gideon special, then maybe your republic was weaker than you thought.
What This Means Today: ZIP-Code Constitutionalism
When state governments ignore federal law, when public officials treat their oaths like toast crumbs, and when elections turn into evangelical purity tests, Article VI becomes a broken alarm system.
We’re supposed to be one country, with one Constitution, interpreted and enforced with national consistency. Instead, we’ve got “Constitutional localism”—a choose-your-own-reality game where your civil rights, your access to healthcare, your legal protections, and your freedom from religious coercion depend on where you live and who’s holding the gavel.
That’s not federalism. That’s fragmentation.
The Supremacy Clause was supposed to stop states from turning into legal insurgents. The Oath Clause was meant to tether public service to a shared civic foundation. And the Religious Test Clause was designed to keep holy wars out of congressional debates.
We are failing all three. And we’re doing it while waving flags and shouting about freedom, as if that makes the contradiction go away.
So the next time someone talks about loving the Constitution, ask them which parts. Then ask if they’re ready to apply Article VI like it actually means something.
Because loyalty to the Constitution isn’t just a slogan. It’s a test. And lately, we’re failing it.
Skippy out. 🛫🧨
The Articles of Confederation (1777–1789) were America’s first crack at national government — a glorified group project where the states promised to cooperate and immediately stopped answering emails. There was no executive branch, no national judiciary, and Congress couldn’t tax, draft, or regulate anything unless all 13 states agreed (they didn’t). Each state printed its own money, ignored federal requests, and basically acted like a sovereign nation with trust issues. It was such a disaster that George Washington — a man who tolerated Valley Forge without complaint — threw up his hands and said, “Let’s try literally anything else.” That “anything else” became the Constitution. And Article VI is where it stopped pretending the states could be trusted to play nice on their own.
Missouri’s “Second Amendment Preservation Act” (SAPA), passed in 2021, was a textbook case of nullification theater. The law declared that certain federal gun regulations were “invalid” in Missouri and prohibited state and local law enforcement from enforcing them — under threat of a $50,000 fine. This wasn’t just a political stunt; it was a direct challenge to the Supremacy Clause of Article VI, which makes federal law the “supreme law of the land.” Historically, nullification — the belief that states can unilaterally invalidate federal law — has been smacked down repeatedly by the Supreme Court, most notably in Cooper v. Aaron(1958), which held that states are bound by federal court rulings, and McCulloch v. Maryland (1819), which affirmed the supremacy of federal law. Missouri’s SAPA didn’t just ignore this precedent — it used it for kindling. In 2024, a federal judge ruled major parts of the law unconstitutional, reminding everyone that the Civil War actually did settle the question of whether states can freelance on federal authority. Spoiler: they can’t.
Several public officials have opted for non-Bible swearing-in ceremonies — perfectly legal, and completely constitutional. John Quincy Adams used a law volume instead of a Bible. Keith Ellison, the first Muslim elected to Congress, took his oath on Thomas Jefferson’s personal copy of the Quran. Others have used everything from constitutions to cookbooks. The Constitution doesn’t care what you put your hand on — it cares that you pledge to uphold it. Anything else is just set dressing.
Love you, Skippy ❤️!
You explain things so well. Thank you.