“It Will Mean What the Words Say!” On the Use and Abuse of Language

In a pivotal scene in Robert Bolt’s play, A Man for All Seasons, St. Thomas More is confronted by his son-in-law, William Roper, with news that Parliament is about to pass the Act of Succession, along with the requirement of swearing an oath to the Act. The following dialogue takes place.

More: “What is the oath?”
Roper: “It’s about the marriage, sir.”
More: “But what is the wording?”
Roper: “We don’t need to know the wording. We know what it will mean.”
More: “It will mean what the words say! An oath is made of words! It may be possible to take it. Or avoid it.”

While the contexts are different, St. Thomas’s admonition to pay careful attention to the words we say (or are compelled to say) is as timely in 2026 as it was in 1534. It’s not hyperbole to suggest that we live in a time of linguistic and grammatical moral crises. The use and abuse of words and phrases both reflect and perpetuate those crises in ways that are not always obvious. Indeed, we Catholics often unwittingly use this language and thus unwittingly perpetuate moral, political, or theological positions that are contrary to Catholic moral theology.

Every word, phrase, and sentence we use in moral or political discourse derive their meanings from the contexts in which they are embedded. These contexts include fundamental theological, philosophical, or ideological commitments that define and delimit the moral grammar and vocabulary that flows from them.

In some cases, it is impossible to use these vocabularies without perpetuating the false foundations upon which they are built. In other cases, we must attempt to redeem the words but carefully define what we mean by them. In either case, we must decide whether, and to what extent, we must refuse to use that moral vocabulary.

The use of the term “dignity” illustrates what I mean.

In his song, “Dignity,” Bob Dylan writes about the elusive definition of the term dignity by cataloguing various places we look for it. The song begins:

Fat man lookin’ in a blade of steel
Thin man lookin’ at his last meal
Hollow man lookin’ in a cottonfield
For dignity

Wise man lookin’ in a blade of grass
Young man lookin’ in the shadows that pass
Poor man lookin’ through painted glass
For dignity

He goes on to describe other places and contexts in which the narrator looks for dignity—weddings, funerals, seashores, palaces—but the answer remains elusive

We share the same frustration as Dylan’s narrator in our attempt to find the definition of dignity and use it appropriately. This is especially a problem in cases of old age, or severe disease, injury, or disability. The regnant secular meaning—the one most commonly used in American moral and political discourse—defines dignity as a list of external attributes, the absence of some number of which means that a person no longer has dignity. If one is incapable of passing some arbitrary threshold of minimal characteristics, one no longer possesses the dignity according to which he deserves to live. We might call this an “externalist” definition of dignity.

The rise of so-called “medical assistance in dying” (“MAID”) laws in some states in the U.S. and many countries illustrates this problem. And, with virtually any decision to define worthiness by attributes, the definition is a slippery slope toward more reasons to put someone to death, not fewer. The trajectory starts with “voluntary” decisions, but quickly descends to morally and politically pressured ones, and finally to mandatory impositions, in which no decision is available to the person whose dignity has been allegedly compromised to the extent that he is no longer worthy of love or life.

This is in contrast to the Catholic Christian definition of dignity. We do not measure dignity by a list of qualities or abilities, but rather by the very nature of the human person as made in the image and likeness of God. Unlike an “externalist” account of dignity, this definition tells us that dignity is unalienable. No list of absent characteristics can take it away. And no set of moral actions, regardless of how reprehensible, can take from us our inherent dignity as transcendent moral agents.

The problem is exacerbated by some Catholics who hold that even this notion of dignity can be compromised. Dignity, these thinkers argue, can be conceded by the actions of moral agents. Dignity, by this definition, is contingent not on the state of the person but upon his actions. Thus, the argument proceeds, dignity is not unalienable, much less “infinite,” as asserted in the 2024 declaration, Dignitatis Infinata, from the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith. But this argument (along with the criticism of Dignitatis Infinata), is a failure to take account of St. Thomas’s famous distinction between “ontological” and “moral” dignity. The former is inalienable; the latter is not.

Ontological dignity names that fundamental aspect of the human being by which he is distinct from all other sentient creatures. It is essential and intrinsic to our human nature, and thus cannot be taken away, regardless of the comparative attributes of a person or his relative goodness of his moral actions. Made in the image of God, the human being alone, for example, may never be used merely as a means to some end. This would be a violation of the ontological dignity of the human person because it would violate the very image of God.

This is in contrast to moral dignity, which might be characterized as “instrumental.” Moral dignity is not measured by the very nature of the human person, but rather by the relative adherence of his moral actions to the good. Actions that conform to the good—and that are thus consistent with ontological dignity—are authentic witnesses to intrinsic dignity. But when we use our moral agency to make choices that are not in accord with the good—and therefore inconsistent with our intrinsic dignity—are worthy of sanction or opprobrium. To fail morally is to fall short of acting according to proper human good. This is how we can morally justify depriving the wrongdoer of liberty or property, in some cases. To use moral agency inconsistently with the good is to violate the ontological dignity of others. This moral failure might be—and often is—the basis for civil or criminal sanctions.

This is why St. Thomas can conclude that a person who sins deviates from the rational order and thereby compromises his human dignity. When we sin, we act contrary to ontological dignity, but we do not lose it. St. Thomas goes so far that this might justify taking the person’s life in some contexts. One need not go that far with him to understand the fundamental point. When a moral agent acts inconsistently with his ontological dignity, he can be sanctioned without denying his ontological dignity.

The lesson to be drawn, of course, is that moral dignity is only compromised by the moral choices of the human agent. Nothing that happens to the human person externally—disease, injury, or illness—can ever be the grounds for saying that his life is not consistent with ontological dignity. We might be morally justified in depriving someone of property or liberty because of some intentional action (or failure to act) by a person. But we are never justified in taking those goods because of something that has happened to that person.

As Catholics, we must always be attentive to the meaning of words. They mean what they say. But what they say cannot be removed from the stories that form them, including the story of creation, fall, and redemption. Perhaps no word in contemporary political discourse is more subject to abuse—and thus more in need of careful definition and defense—than “dignity.”

Bob Dylan’s narrator ends the song “Dignity” thus:

So many roads, so much at stake
So many dead ends, I’m at the edge of the lake
Sometimes I wonder what it’s gonna take
To find dignity

We can start with the first chapter of Genesis.