Outside the Beltway

A Very OTB speech: A Republic, Not A Democracy–A False and Misleading Slogan

Our present-day politics reminds us that the “unfinished work” of democracy is never fully complete.  

Michael Bailey · Tuesday, November 25, 2025 · 14 comments

Note: Dear readers, what follows is a lightly edited speech (“Beyond the Slogan: Protecting the Vote in our Democratic-Republic”) I delivered yesterday (Monday, November 24, 2025) to the Rome, Georgia chapter of the League of Women Voters. It was, in every sense, an Outside-the-Beltway talk—so much so that “Outside the Beltway” was mentioned in the introduction, along with a PowerPoint nod to Dr. Steven Taylor, our very own resident OG critic of the “We’re a Republic, Not a Democracy” refrain.

While the arguments and framing are my own, long-time OTB readers will spot more than a few familiar lines of reasoning woven throughout. Including the speech here may be a small act of self-indulgence, but I suspect a few of you in this forum will appreciate the chance to take a comfortable and recognizable (if lengthy) ride.

TL:DR–see, Steve’s “A Republic, not a Democracy” OTB Library

Introduction:

I want to express my gratitude to the League of Women Voters for this generous invitation. You are on the front lines of protecting and expanding access to voting by empowering voters, defending democracy, and, frankly, simply giving the world one fewer thing to despair when we wake up and check our social media. 

I’m also quite aware that, in speaking to you, I am mostly preaching to the choir. Or, at least, I sincerely hope I’m preaching to the choir. If not, then this might be thirty minutes of what the kids today call pure cringe. 

If you are in the trenches or on the front lines, metaphorical sword in hand, then I see myself today as providing a shield, providing just a touch of rhetorical cover. Much of what I will say will be obvious to many. 

We live in a time when the obvious is obscured, when what is clearly good is treated as suspicious, and when simple and long-settled democratic principles need to be explained and reexplained. In today’s world, the obvious, as well as the obviously good, are badly in need of defending. 

So what I want this speech to do—both for myself and for you—is to equip us against the misleading claims of a dangerously seductive slogan. In a political world filled with very real threats to democratic governance—from voter suppression to executive overreach to the incessant corrosion of truth—you may find it odd that I focus here on a slogan that might seem like small potatoes.  But I find this slogan to be symptomatic of the problems we face today, and so I will address it head on. The phrase I want to examine is this: 

“We’re a republic, not a democracy.” Sometimes it is stated, “we’re a constitutional republic, not a democracy.”

My thesis tonight is simple:  This claim is false. More importantly, it has become a misleading, if not simply dangerous, rhetorical device. It is used not to shed light but to obscure, not to clarify the logic of our constitutional structure but to restrict participation and narrow the meaning of “We the People.”

A Popular and Harmful Phrase:

Whether this slogan is increasing in frequency or not, I cannot say. Nonetheless, I am confident it is not going away.  Rarely does a semester go by without one or two of my undergraduate students repeating it with earnest sincerity. Since my students tend to be relatively apolitical, they are clearly absorbing this phrase from the broader commentary around them—from teachers, radio hosts, TikTok pundits, cable commentators, and elected officials.

Our elected officials and other politicos use it frequently. Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson has said it; Utah Senator Mike Lee seemingly keeps it in his coat jacket the way old-timey politicians used to keep their pocket Constitution. Charlie Kirk built a powerful youth-focused political brand which highlighted this phrase.  And other prominent voices who have used it include Steve Bannon and Walter E. Williams, as well as institutions such as the Heritage Foundation. Going back a bit, Rush Limbaugh relied on it quite frequently. And going further back still, the John Birch Society—a group militantly opposed to desegregation—made it central to their worldview, describing democracy as “a perennial fraud” and “a weapon of demagoguery.”  Their views may not have aged very well, but we must admit they refuse to die. 

My concern is that this widespread and persistent phrase is influential enough to subtly shape the public sense of what the United States is supposed to be. And though this slogan is sometimes used innocently (as it often is by my students and many civics teachers), at other times it is wielded to delegitimize perfectly legitimate democratic participation.

Where the Phrase Begins Innocently:

In its most benign form, the slogan means something unobjectionable: that the American system is not purely majoritarian.*  It is, of course, laudable that our Constitution provides protections for minorities—such as judicial review, checks and balances, and federalism. These institutional structures are designed in part to prevent what Alexis de Tocqueville and James Madison warned about: the tyranny of the majority. 

It is worth emphasizing that today’s proponents of democracy do not insist upon a mechanically formulaic adherence to pure majority rule. For example, none of us in this room believe that rights evaporate simply because 51% of the public turns against a minority. We are perfectly at ease with constitutional safeguards; they are consistent both with republicanism and democracy. All liberal democracies include protections for civil liberties and provide institutional checks on power. Norway has them. Germany has them. Canada has them. Nobody is confused by what kind of governments these are. Nobody says, “Ah yes, Norway functions well! Thank goodness it rejects democracy.”

In this one narrow respect–as a reminder that governance is more than mere majoritarianism–the slogan is harmless but imprecise.

Where the Phrase Turns Dangerous:

Too often the slogan becomes a cudgel wielded against legitimate participation. Often these arguments are implied; the dots are set out in a pattern, and the listener is expected to connect the dots with ease.

We are living through what I can only call an “exclusionist moment.”  

Efforts to restrict voter participation on unfounded charges of voter fraud, or for other vague or unproven concerns about ballot integrity, birth citizenship, and immigration status are commonplace today. Attempts to roll back access to participation or even citizenship are too easily justified as unproblematic because, after all, “We’re a republic, not a democracy.” If one cannot prove fraud, if one cannot justify restrictions on their merits, well, no worries–we’re not a democracy in any case. Why fret over every departure from full inclusion or participation? That’s just majoritarianism.  

Thankfully, organizations like the League of Women Voters and others stand in the breach, using the courts, legislatures, and the public square to protect voting rights. For example, the League recently opposed Maine’s restrictive (November 2025) ballot initiative and, refreshingly, called it out for what it was: “pure voter suppression.” That kind of clarity in today’s world is invaluable.

Democracy is not a mechanical formula, but it is a regulative ideal, and until we are prepared to justify why some people’s consent to government is unnecessary–in gross violation of the creed of the Declaration of Independence–we should seek to make “We the People” an inclusive concept, not a narrowing one.

The Constitutional Text:

Let’s explore the roots of the slogan’s origins. One major justification stems from the text of the Constitution.  For example, Senator Mike Lee posted on social media in 2020, “The word “democracy” appears nowhere in the Constitution, perhaps because our form of government is not a democracy.  It’s a constitutional republic.” 

Senator Lee is, in the narrowest sense, correct–at least in part. The U.S. Constitution does, in Article IV, mention a republic–once. Article IV guarantees to the states a “republican form of government.” But the Constitution does not define what that means. Nor does it say that the federal government itself is a republic—just that the states must be.

But this is not an argument against our republican nature any more than it’s an argument against our democratic nature. Constitutional silence proves nothing because the Constitution is famously brief. To name just a few crucial items, the text does not explicitly:

If silence on the word “democracy” proves we are not a democracy, then silence also disproves the existence of a large chunk of the constitutional architecture we take for granted. Silence is not an argument; it is just silence. We largely infer that we are a republic from our understanding of what a republic is, and we infer that we are today a democracy in the same manner. There is no escape for context and interpretation in understanding our Constitution or our form of government. 

Madison and the Founders:

Defenders of the slogan also often turn to the Framers, and especially James Madison, for that inference that we are a republic, not a democracy. Madison defined a republic several ways in the Federalist Papers, not always consistently. 

In Federalist 39, he defines a republic primarily by what it is not: it’s neither a monarchy nor an aristocracy. He writes, “Could any further proof be required of the republican complexion of this system, the most decisive might be found in its prohibition of titles of nobility.”  In other words, we’re a republic because we don’t have kings and we don’t have dukes or lords. 

More positively in that same Federalist paper, Madison defines a republic as a government “derived from the great body of the people,” administered by officials serving limited terms or during good behavior.

Madison’s definition of a republic here aligns nicely with modern political science. A republic is a system without a monarch in which authority is derived, either directly or indirectly, from the people. But notice: this does not tell us whether the republic is democratic, nor does it tell us whether democracy is forbidden. A republic may be democratic—like France or Germany—or it may be authoritarian, like the People’s Republic of China or Venezuela. 

The real Source of Confusion: Federalist Nos. 10 and 14: 

If Madison and modern political science agree, then where does the confusion come from? It comes from the fact that Madison had not finished defining a republic. Beyond his republic-as-not-a-monarchy argument, he provides a second argument. 

In both Federalist Nos. 10 and 14, Madison contrasts a republic with a “pure democracy,” and this is where things become muddied.  In Federalist 10, he defines pure democracy as:

“A society consisting of a small number of citizens, who assemble and administer the government in person.”

Now note how remarkably severe this definition is. A pure democracy is not one where the people simply get together to make legislative decisions; it’s a system where the people themselves also actually carry out the plans.  To reiterate: A pure democracy is one in which the people themselves, not their delegates, “assemble and administer the government in person.”

In contrast to a pure democracy, Madison defines a republic in this way: “A government in which the scheme of representation takes place.”  That seems simple.  A republic for Madison is a representative government. 

In Federalist 14, Madison repeats the same formula: “In a democracy, the people meet and exercise the government in person; in a republic, they administer it by their representatives.”

So Madison draws a line between direct democracy and representative government, and it’s a line between the people doing all the government work themselves, on the one hand, and the people delegating the tasks of governance to others. 

Two difficulties arise from this definition. 

The first problem is that no government that Madison references—in particular, Athens, Sparta, or Rome—actually functioned as pure democracies in the way Madison defines it. In Federalist 63, Madison admits as much openly, stating “In the most pure democracies of Greece, many of the executive functions were performed, not by the people themselves, but by officers elected by the people, and REPRESENTING the people in their EXECUTIVE capacity.” (Caps in original.)  Indeed, at times, Madison refers to these ancient polities as “lesser republics” and “ancient republics,” thus further throwing into question the utility of real-world distinctions between democracies and republics as analytical types. What distinguished these “ancient republics” from his modern republic is that in the modern republic, representative (delegated) offices are the sole governing mechanism; the people are excluded entirely from day-to-day decision-making and administration. 

That some level of delegation is necessary in the administration of law is easy to understand. George Bernard Shaw is (likely apocryphally) said once to have joked that the problem with socialism is that it takes up too many evenings. Pure democracy, as Madison describes, would take up all of our evenings…as well as all of our days, including coffee breaks. 

Even the celebrated 17th-century New England Puritan democracy of townships and hamlets– the closest approximations we have in this country to the ideal of pure democracy–delegated tasks to officials. They elected officers such as Selectmen, Constables, Town clerks, Treasurers, justices of the peace, and, I learned only this past week, fence viewers, as apparently because fences were very much an important feature of Puritan life in need of careful scrutiny. 

By defining pure democracy in such a narrow—and largely theoretical—way, existing strictly as an idea rather than a practical system, Madison created a rhetorical contrast with the large republic he supported in the proposed Constitution. He intentionally set up a comparison between a hypothetical system of face-to-face, localized majority rule, which he viewed as impractical and highly vulnerable to faction, and a system of representative government, which he believed was both suitable and necessary for a nation as large and diverse as the United States.

In other words, Madison was not arguing against popular government writ broadly; he was arguing for its geographic expansion, though tempered through the institution of representation. His “pure democracy” was an invention, an abstraction, a rhetorical foil to justify designing a new, large-scale system of popular government.

An unfortunate if subtle thing happened in his argument. In Federalist 10 he calls his foil “pure democracy.” But in Federalist 14 he simply calls it “democracy.” He drops the description, “pure.”  

In so doing, Madison seemingly equates democracy per se with pure democracy. And so today’s sloganeers, as often by implication as explicitly, take “democracy” to mean pure democracy, or mob rule, by definition.  Or if they do not equate the two precisely, they impute the sins of pure democracy to all democracy. Democracy is undesirable by definition in the Madisonian scheme because, with all due respect to the genius of Mr. Madison, democracy was badly defined. 

Pure or direct democracy is not the only kind of democracy. It’s not even the only kind of bad democracy, to say nothing about the more desirable kind. 

So where are we? 

Let us take stock. Following Madison:

– We are a republic because we have no monarch.

– We are a (modern) republic because our government is composed exclusively by representative institutions, drawing their authority directly and indirectly from the people.

The Growing Importance of “The People”:

Before we move on, recall that what I’m contending is not that we are a democracy and not a republic.  Rather, I’m contending that we are indeed both a republic and a democracy.   But it’s important to remember that the United States has changed significantly over time. The Constitution established the United States as a republic–that much is established–but it has not always been democratic in the modern sense.

Consider: Let’s go back to some thirty years or so after the Constitution’s ratification, and let’s investigate the presidential election of 1820. In that election, roughly 110,000 people, virtually all white males, elected the President, James Monroe, from a population of over 9.6 million, of which perhaps 4.6 million were adults of voting age. 

In other words, in 1820 roughly 2.5% of the voting-age population selected the presidency. 

To put this in perspective: Rome, Georgia’s off-year 2025 election turnout was just over 20% of registered voters. That would have been a democratic tidal wave by 1820 standards. 

The reason for low participation in 1820 is obvious: it’s largely on account of who was legally excluded from participating. Women, people of color, poor white men in many states, and religious minorities in at least one state (Maryland) were denied the vote. Other matters also suppressed the vote: Monroe faced no opposition, and a little over a third of the state legislatures appointed presidential electors directly, bypassing the public.

America was a republic, yes—but it was a deeply exclusionary and not very democratic republic. Let’s not forget that early 19th century republicanism was perfectly consistent (legally) with slavery. Slavery was legal in more than half the states. 

Here’s a thought experiment: try to think of a country in 2025 that matches the political rights of the United States in 1820. You would have to find a nation with strong democratic rights for a select minority, but serious restrictions on participation for most people. Some groups would enjoy meaningful civil liberties and legal protection, while others would have virtually none—and might even be legally considered the property of others. I’m not sure what country today would come closest, but I suspect that whatever candidates exist would not make an appealing list. In any case, very few of us would willingly trade our present system for the democratic system of 1820. Assuming the United States of 1820 was a constitutional republic, that form of government may have been more attractive than many monarchies—especially absolute monarchy—but it hardly guaranteed the flourishing life for “we the people” that its rhetorical supporters often attribute to it.

Soon after 1820, the United States did, in fact, began to democratize as a country in earnest, not so much through changes in the Constitution at first but with changes in the hearts and minds of Americans.  Enough cultural, social, and political changes had occurred by the mid-1830s that Alexis de Tocqueville titled his masterwork study of the United States, Democracy in America.

Lincoln and our “Unfinished Work”:

This slow democratic expansion is given exquisite expression and intellectual scaffolding in the thought of Abraham Lincoln. At Gettysburg, Lincoln reminds the nation that the American project was not completed at the Founding.  The work of the nation to achieve its self-proclaimed identity remains unfinished. 

It is worth noting that, aside from common connecting words, the most frequently repeated word in the Gettysburg Address is “dedicate.” On that solemn day, Lincoln and the assembled crowd came not only to dedicate a portion of the battlefield, but to re-dedicate themselves to a nation that had long been dedicated in principle—though not in practice—to the proposition that all men are created equal. By emphasizing the unfinished work of the Founding, Lincoln’s call for a “new birth of freedom” elevates equality to a central and defining element of the American character for the first time. The post–Civil War amendments would make this transformation official, though, once again, not fully realized in lived experience.

Interestingly, in the Gettysburg Address, Lincoln never defines our regime type in precise political-science language. Instead, he merely asks whether our form of government–a “government of the people, by the people, for the people”–shall long endure or indeed perish from the earth. In Lincoln’s vision, equality and therefore necessarily democracy become the measure of our hope. 

It took more than a century—with multiple amendments, countless legislation, courageous activism, protest, and heartbreaking sacrifice—to move us meaningful closer toward that promise of democracy. As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., lamented, it was an uneven and heart-wrenching process. “The denial of this sacred right (to vote) is a tragic betrayal of the highest mandates of our democratic tradition.” Our present-day politics reminds us that the “unfinished work” of democracy is never fully complete.  

Types of Democracy:

Political scientists distinguish among many types of democracy: direct, delegative, illiberal, flawed, hybrid, and so forth. Several of these are highly undesirable.  But the gold standard for most political theorists of democracy–and for most American citizens as well–is liberal democracy. Remember: a republic can be democratic or authoritarian. In contrast we can think of liberal democracy (largely following the work of Robert Dahl) as a set of procedures and institutions designed to facilitate and guarantee widespread political participation, meaningful free opposition, and the protection of civil liberties. These three features–widespread participation, protection of opposition, and protection of civil liberty–in turn entail a host of other values. For example, a fully realized liberal democracy promotes and protects (among other values): 

– The rule of law
– Free and fair elections
– Broad suffrage on a one vote per person basis
– Opposition rights
– Independent media
– Civil rights and liberties

Countries like Germany, Norway, Canada, and New Zealand are called democracies not because they are pure direct democracies, but because they meet, or approach, the standards of liberal democracy.

This is where the “a republic, not a democracy” crowd has backed the wrong horse. They are right that simple majoritarianism is not enough for good governance. But they ignore a crucial reality: a nation can suppress dissent, restrict voting, and violate civil liberties and still call itself a republic. China is one obvious example.

A country guilty of those abuses, however, could never be regarded as a genuine liberal democracy. Liberal democracy demands far higher standards than does mere republicanism. Protecting individual rights, ensuring free participation, and placing constraints on power are the core of its allure. It is a much more restrictive and liberty-protecting system than republicanism alone requires.

At the risk of beating a perfectly dead horse: in defending liberal democracy against the slogan “a republic, not a democracy,” my goal is to resist attempts to narrow the circle of those who count as part of “We the People.” 

I believe this is happening in our current political climate.

Taken together, these trends do not merely debate the proper contours of representative government; they threaten to shrink the democratic community itself by deciding, explicitly or implicitly, who gets to belong–and for those who belong, those who are entitled to have a meaningful voice.

Such attacks may be consistent with simple republicanism, but they are not consistent with liberal democracy. 

In Federalist 63 Madison argues that what we ultimately seek in our law-making is that “the cool and deliberate sense of the community” would prevail. Note what should not prevail: Not the passions of the mob nor the demands of a powerful political elite but the thoughtful, considered judgment of the community–that is, the people. Representation, Madison writes in Federalist 10, should “enlarge and refine” public opinion. The purpose of representation is not to displace the public mind but to honor it through deliberation. 

Our sloganeers worry about mob rule. 

I worry about something else entirely. Our problem is not too much participation or too much democracy.  Our problem is that our elected representatives are failing us, and they are failing us badly. 

Some of the “republic, not a democracy” voices are also comfortable shielding themselves from information, compromise, and accountability. Gerrymandered districts and closed primaries reward the most extreme candidates and punish those who try to deliberate, negotiate or compromise with diverse voices. At the same time, distrust of expert knowledge—especially scientific expertise on health policy and climate change—has become rampant among elected officials. In a surreal entrance into a bizzaro world, performative ignorance is now treated virtually as proof of partisan loyalty.

The solution to these problems is not less democracy but better and more meaningful electoral competition–both within parties and, especially, between parties. Nothing about limiting the voice of the people will improve deliberation over the merits of policy. We need our leaders to feel accountable not to a small portion of like-minded partisan extremists but to the whole of the people they serve. 

In conclusion…

Are we a republic? Certainly.

Are we a democracy?  Originally no, at least not in the modern sense. Over the past one hundred years, increasingly yes, thank goodness. The more democratic we become, perhaps ironically, the more fully we realize Madison’s aspiration for our republic: a government deriving authority “from the great body of the people,” not a privileged permanent few.  After all, Madison was opposed to tyranny whether it emerged from the many or the few.  

I find it touching that we meet here today in the season of Thanksgiving. I think it’s worth noting that Abraham Lincoln gave his Gettysburg Address exactly one week before the very Thanksgiving Day he proclaimed to fall on the fourth Thursday of November. I believe that Lincoln understood the conviction of gratitude was deeply connected to the hope of improvement. 

We live in a world of polarized differences, but so did the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag people who comprised the first Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is a holiday that invites us to share a table. I love that. In our divided world, the unity and good cheer of Thanksgiving offers a sweet alternative to division and rancor. In the long run, only democracy offers a way for us to reconcile differences in peace. 

 I for one am glad to live in a republic. That’s what “No Kings Day” was all about.  

But I am also even prouder to live in a democracy. 

Thank you for your time, and thank you for your good work. 

* Addendum (not in the speech):

Few, if any of us, seek rigid, automatic majoritarianism in every circumstance. Still, it is worth acknowledging that—short of full consensus—majority rule should, by default, govern collective decision-making unless an alternative rule has been clearly agreed upon. This has been standard liberal thinking since at least John Locke.

This does not mean other decision rules are wrong, only that deviations from unanimity or majority rule generally require justification in a way that majority rule does not. Such departures may be perfectly valid, but they must be defended by pointing to the good they secure—more careful deliberation, greater protection of fundamental interests, additional safeguards against hasty decisions, stronger protection of vulnerable minorities, and so on. 

In his Second Treatise on Government, Locke makes the following case.   
  §. 96. For when any number of men have, by the consent of every individual, made a community, they have thereby made that community one body, with a power to act as one body, which is only by the will and determination of the majority: for that which acts any community, being only the consent of the individuals of it, and it being necessary to that which is one body to move one way; it is necessary the body should move that way whither the greater force carries it, which is the consent of the majority: or else it is impossible it should act or continue one body, one community, which the consent of every individual that united into it, agreed that it should; and so every one is bound by that consent to be concluded by the majority. And therefore we see, that in assemblies, empowered to act by positive laws, where no number is set by that positive law which empowers them, the act of the majority passes for the act of the whole, and of course determines, as having by the law of nature and reason, the power of the whole.”