What Kind of Democracy in America?

From intellectual debates over “liberalism” (or the even more elusive “neoliberalism”) to the rhetorical use of terms like “nationalism,” “equality,” or “social justice,” our modern political vocabulary often does more to obscure than to clarify. Political terms tend to conjure up vague emotional reactions and offer little by way of precision.

It might not be a stretch to say that strong public connotations of words come to distort their definitions: insofar as a word has a universally positive or negative association in the public mind, it inevitably comes to be deployed in a myriad of strategic ways, eventually becoming little more than a vague feeling. Such power, without understanding, can pose dangers to public life.

It is safe to say that “democracy” is such a word. Aside from a few cranky conservatives who like to remind us that America is a “republic, not a democracy” (and we are, of course, correct), the word has an almost universally positive connotation. Yet, it would be challenging to formulate a precise definition that could gain the assent of all Americans.

In the recent election campaign, according to one poll, nearly three-quarters of Americans believed that “democracy [was] on the ballot.” Yet there was widespread disagreement about what that meant or what the “threat” to democracy entailed. Moreover, while Democrats made “Our Democracy” a central talking point, they did so while also lamenting the Dobbs decision, which effectively put one of the most contentious political issues of our generation back in the hands of voters. If “democracy” was on the ballot, what exactly were we voting on? While many theories might argue for very specific definitions, to think broadly, we might start by considering a continuum between two extremes.

On the other side, the American right seems to have embraced a highly populist style of politics yet is increasingly attracted to provocateurs like Curtis Yarvin who argue that democracy ought to be jettisoned wholesale in favor of monarchy or dictatorship. In a recent New York Times interview, Yarvin made sweeping trans-historical claims about democracy’s weakness, but neither he nor the interviewer seemed to think it was important to define one’s terms. If we are to have clarity in political rhetoric or intellectual debate, we must have some sense of the range of meaning that words like “democracy” have taken on.

On one far extreme, we can conceive of democracy in an entirely formalist way: a method of decision-making that utilizes equal votes of citizens in choosing representatives or deciding issues directly by plurality, majority, or supermajority rule. It is essentially an institutional characteristic and not necessarily the defining quality of the system of government.

This extreme has the virtue of being both precise and unsentimental. Democracy can easily be identified as one characteristic of our political system, distinguished from (and potentially weighed against) other characteristics. Indeed, the “republic, not a democracy” line may best be seen as a preference for this understanding of democracy: the sense that our system of government includes the participation of the people broadly understood, but not one entirely defined by The People’s will being done.

This view of democracy also need not have inherent moral force. Insofar as democracy captures the “will of the people,” it does so only in extremely limited snapshots that might identify the majority’s preference on one discrete question. Arguments for this more formalist understanding of democracy will, therefore, likely be instrumental and contingent rather than relying on claims of inherent moral superiority. Participation of the people may offer a defense against encroaching government, for instance, but not the promise of a perfect social order. It also allows for a weighing and balancing of the virtues of democracy alongside other values, including liberty and constitutionalism. One could say, for instance, that equal representation in the Senate is, indeed, “undemocratic,” yet justify it on other grounds.  

Conversely, democracy can be an expansive moral force that serves as the normative standard of the entire political system—or even society. This version of democracy speaks not simply of democratic practices or institutions but of democratic regimes and societies. In this view, government is not merely responsive to the people or restrained by the people; it is the vehicle by which the people direct all of society: Vox populi, vox Dei.

The key to this view of democracy, however, is that it writes a check that elections alone cannot cash. It, therefore, requires additional substantive inputs (which may vary) to fill out the idea of democracy itself. “The people,” is not a self-defining category and cannot have a single “voice.” Moreover, the questions decided in elections are always limited in scope and incapable of providing the absolute guidance this vision of democracy demands. As John McGinnis has argued, making a similar distinction, this expansive understanding of democracy requires some manner of “purifying” the people’s will—clarifying what properly counts and what does not: Elections speak for “the people” insofar as the voters’ judgment has not been defiled by extraneous influence; they speak for the people insofar as the results do not undermine certain democratic social conditions, like economic equality or certain expressive rights. The comprehensive model of democracy, therefore, ends up diminishing the immediate importance of specific, discrete electoral outcomes in favor of broader “democratic” forces that are seen as overriding.

This disconnect has wider ramifications. Since the majority cannot directly opine via election on every conceivable political and social question, the moral ideal of democracy must be advanced in ways other than voting and elections, generally with a more unified voice speaking on behalf of the people. As McGinnis pointed out, this helps to explain the left’s embrace of democracy while also approving of unelected administrative agencies possessing large swaths of delegated power.  The people can be said to rule insofar as the government pursues truly democratic outcomes—even without much input by way of elections.

Thus, in its most extreme iterations, this form of democracy can, in the words of democratic theorist Robert Talisse, come to encapsulate “all that is good, right, and wholesome in the social world.” It bleeds into every other normative category used to describe the “good society.” Certain rights against majorities can be sewn into the fabric of “democracy,” as can public policies, such as those intended to equalize social conditions or protect the public from “disinformation.” When this happens, the term becomes indistinguishable from the substantive inputs contributing to the “purification” of the people’s voice—regardless of any individual election results.  

Because this understanding of democracy has inherent moral force and is not restrained to elections, it also pushes beyond the realm of governance and makes claims on other social institutions. Education, religion, culture, technology—these are just a few things one often hears must be “democratized” by reshaping them according to those underlying “democratic” principles.

This extreme has the virtue of being closer to what most people think of when invoking democracy. It also recognizes that it is challenging to separate democratic political practices from certain broader social realities or animating principles. Most arguments for equal voting among citizens generally only make sense and generate moral force in more broadly equal societies. And without certain substantive social conditions or certain rights—like free expression—it is unlikely that most people could reasonably undertake the kind of judgment that democratic elections seem to require.

These two sketches represent extremes, and any particular presentation of democracy is likely to fall somewhere in between and often invoke elements of both. Today, “American democracy” is marked in part by a tension between, on the one hand, a growing dominance of the more comprehensive mode in the public imagination and rhetoric and, on the other hand, an institutional framework that reflects a more formal understanding.

It has already been observed that the rhetoric of the left generally tacks toward the more comprehensive model, allowing its commitment to democracy to go hand-in-hand with its longstanding comfort with unelected judges or bureaucrats making significant decisions largely free from voters' input. But it is not a clear left-right division. The increasingly populist American right also uses a different articulation of the more comprehensive model, often presenting elections as the anguished cry of The People, whose voice has too often been distorted or led astray by over-powerful elite influence.

Indeed, across the board, Americans tend to embrace a sweeping vision of democracy. Consider one of the most commonly cited polling questions around election day: Do you believe the country is headed in the “right direction,” or is it on the “wrong track”? Gallup asks a similar question about satisfaction with “the way things are going.” Such questions take for granted that there is a vague, generalizable collective sentiment underlying the mundane choice between potential officeholders on the ballot and that democracy is fundamentally about directing society according to that sentiment. The ubiquitous idea of the “governing mandate” also reflects the drive to translate formal democratic procedures into a more comprehensive vision.  Ostensibly, it places supreme importance on the results of specific elections but imports expansive meanings to the results beyond the discrete choices on the ballot. According to the logic of the mandate, an election does not merely place specific individuals in certain offices but conveys a moral imperative to pursue a vision and an imperative for everyone else—even other officials who themselves have been selected in democratic elections—to put their judgment and their position aside and get on board with the democratic mission.  

If more formalist understandings fail to satisfy democracy's moral aspirations, then more comprehensive views tend to elevate expectations beyond what the actual processes of self-government can deliver. This is especially though not exclusively true in a constitutional order like our own, primarily structured to safeguard other values, including the rule of law, local self-government, and liberty. America’s institutions reflect a recognition of the futility of grand visions for a unitary people and work to channel political aspirations in more restrained directions.

Today, however, comprehensive expectations for democracy exert a powerful influence on public life and chafe against these constitutional limits—and even against the formalistic understanding of democracy if “incorrect” election results threaten true popular values.

This understanding of democracy offers a kind of solidarity and sense of purpose that people often cannot find elsewhere in the modern world. Democracy becomes not merely a process but a mission to commit oneself.

It is also driven by the concentration of power in the hands of the modern state and the corresponding sense that there are no limits to what a properly directed government can do. The late political theorist Kenneth Minogue observed that as people cease to believe in any inherent limits to what politics can accomplish, it fosters a “dirigiste” character in the very “psyche of the demos.” We no longer think of restricting or balancing power but only of aligning it with the “will of the people” as we have defined it.

This sense of unlimited government power and resources, combined with the people's purified will, suggests a straightforward political solution to every social problem: empower the people’s champions to eliminate the political, social, or economic abuses perpetuated by the people’s enemies.

As various comprehensive visions of democracy flourish in the public mind and run up against constitutional and institutional checks premised on other values, they are liable to lead only to spiraling frustration and discontent and a desire to break out of those remaining shackles in pursuit of right-wing or left-wing visions of perfection.

Since these comprehensive democratic visions are built on an illusion—the idea of a coherent and panoramic “will of the people”—reality itself is the ultimate check on them. As Americans seem inclined merely to choose one of them over another, the question is not whether any will succeed or fail but rather how much damage they will do to liberty, constitutionalism, and formal democracy before reality sets in.

John Grove is the editor-in-chief of Law & Liberty.