“Democracy” is one of the most frequently invoked yet least understood words in contemporary politics. It is used to praise, warn, accuse and moralize. We hear that democracy is “under threat” or that certain views are “undemocratic.” Yet when the word is pressed, divergent notions emerge.
For Catholics, this conceptual fog is not an abstract problem. Because truth is a moral category, political discourse clouded by equivocation threatens our ability to judge rightly. What, then, is the Catholic response to the invocations of democratic values? As Jacques Maritain argues in “Christianity and Democracy,” Catholic thought has long intuited a harmony between human dignity, social services and political participation that are commonly associated with democratic life. Articulating this intuition is, therefore, crucial for both the believer and non-believer today.
A helpful way to illuminate the confusion is to distinguish three meanings of “democracy” that are often conflated: as a form of rule, as a form of association, and as equality. Each suggests legitimate political concerns but also aligns differently with Catholic teaching.
The first is democracy as a form of rule, understood in its literal Greek sense: the people are the source of political authority. This definition focuses not on the regime’s character but on the location of power. Many assume this form of democracy is inherently good; but Catholic social teaching is more cautious. The Church values participation and shared responsibility, but has never taught that majority will is automatically legitimate. St. John Paul II warned explicitly against this temptation in “Centesimus Annus”: a democracy without objective moral reference easily becomes a “thinly disguised totalitarianism” — the arbitrary will of a ruler replaced by the arbitrary will of the majority.
The second meaning is democracy as a form of association, more closely associated with the rule of law or constitutionalism. Here, democracy is not based on who holds power but the structures within which power operates: equal treatment before the law, institutional limits, stable procedures, and protections for human rights. This understanding resonates deeply with Catholic thought. A political order that protects the dignity of each person, regardless of social standing, through impartial norms aligns with the Church’s insistence on the intrinsic worth of the human person. Yet, crucially, nothing in this understanding of democracy requires popular rule. A constitutional regime could even be monarchical and still uphold these “democratic” values.
The third meaning takes democracy to imply substantive equality: such a society must guarantee not only equal legal standing but a wide range of social and economic outcomes. Goods like housing, healthcare and food security — once matters of familial duty, communal responsibility, and personal charity — are recast as enforceable entitlements. Catholics, of course, affirm the moral seriousness of these needs; indifference to deprivation is contrary to the Gospel. But when the language of democracy presents such goods chiefly as concerns of the state, it risks obscuring the distinctly Christian understanding of charity as a personal, relational, freely offered love. A political community that treats all human needs as democratic rights can inadvertently narrow the space in which charity — and the virtues that accompany it — can be meaningfully exercised.
These three meanings of democracy frequently collide. Appeals to “the will of the people” can directly contradict the constitutional protections needed to safeguard human dignity. Substantive egalitarian claims can pressure legal institutions to violate the very rights they were established to ensure. And those who defend constitutional democracy are often accused of opposing “democracy” itself, simply because they resist majoritarian excess or expanded state provision.
This instability in our political vocabulary is not merely academic. When the same word is used to express three incompatible expectations — popular authority, lawful equality and substantive outcomes — we should not be surprised when political discourse becomes incomprehensible, which may cause further conflict and division. Catholics are not immune from these dynamics. Some Catholics defend “democracy” when they mean the rule of law; others reject “democracy” when they mean majoritarianism. Too often, we talk past one another.
How, then, should Catholics be disposed toward democracy?
They should begin with gratitude for the real goods democracies can secure: participation, stability, and legal protections for fundamental rights. Catholics should continue with sobriety: democracy is a means, not an end, and popular will does not confer moral legitimacy. Truth, justice, and human dignity must be prioritized over any specific governmental form.
Catholics, therefore, should appreciate democracy but cannot worship it. Our task is humbler: to insist that political life remain anchored in a moral order that does not shift with opinion. A society that cannot articulate what it means by democracy will struggle to govern itself. Catholics, guided by a richer tradition, can help restore clarity — not for partisan ends, but for the sake of the common good we are called to serve.
