What Pope Francis Taught Us About Courage And The Silent Majority

Forbes

25-04-2025

Pope Francis led with moral courage, not perfection—inviting the silent majority to build bridges, ... More embrace pragmatic idealism, and act on our shared stake in each other. (Photo by Piero CRUCIATTI / AFP) (Photo by PIERO CRUCIATTI/AFP via Getty Images)
In an era defined by division and distrust, it's rare to find a leader who earns the respect of both admirers and critics. Yet as Pope Francis is laid to rest, tributes from across political, religious, and cultural lines make one thing clear: he was that kind of leader—admired not for perfection, but for his moral courage—grounded in realism and hope, animated by pragmatic idealism, and defined by a tenacity to bring people together, even in the face of his own flaws.
To be sure, Pope Francis was not without controversy. His push to reorient the Church toward greater inclusion inspired many, but also provoked resistance. Traditionalists feared he blurred doctrinal lines. Progressives often wished he moved faster on issues like women's leadership or LGBTQ inclusion. Secular critics questioned his views on capitalism and abortion.
What made Francis arguably unique, especially in these divided times, was his ability to walk a tightrope. He pursued change not just by edict, but by example. He challenged all sides to listen, to build bridges, and to remember: progress isn't about winning ideological battles; it's about refusing to let the perfect become the enemy of the good.
Take the 2023 UN Climate Summit. There, he called on world leaders to stop fueling ideological 'fan bases' and start engaging in 'good politics.' He warned against performative outrage and purity tests—and instead urged us to find common cause. 'Let us leave behind our divisions and unite our forces,' he said. 'With God's help, let us emerge from the dark night of wars and environmental devastation in order to turn our common future into the dawn of a new and radiant day.' It was a clear call to reject the fray and embrace the possible.
This was not an isolated moment. Whether championing global vaccine access during the pandemic, mobilizing philanthropists to fight hunger, or opening the door to blessings for same-sex couples, Francis consistently chose the possible over the perfect.
One telling example: his interfaith prayers during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. While intended as a gesture of solidarity, they drew condemnation from some within the Church who deemed it blasphemous. His response was characteristically unflinching: 'If you think we're all praying to different gods, you've missed the point.'
Looking at such soaring rhetoric—his appeals to our better angels—it's perhaps easy to dismiss it as idealistic, old-fashioned, or detached from today's messy realities. But perhaps Pope Francis was more in tune with public sentiment than many assumed. That might explain the outpouring of praise, even from those who often disagreed with his positions.
Today, political self-interest dominates the discourse. Aid budgets are slashed under the guise of 'national security.' The language of solidarity has been replaced by the language of transactional benefit. And yet, despite this, the data tells a different story.
Studies show that much of our unease stems not from reality, but from misplaced pessimism—we consistently underestimate the decency of others. The latest World Happiness Report, for example, found that people are far more likely to return a lost wallet than we assume. In other words, we expect selfishness, but often encounter solidarity.
Nowhere is this more evident than on the issue of climate change—an area Pope Francis championed with urgency and moral clarity. A global survey published by The Guardian, covering 125 countries, found that 89% of people believe their governments should do more to combat climate change. Yet most people think they're in the minority. This 'spiral of silence' hides a powerful truth: there is far more support for collective action than many of us realize.
The same study found that 69% of people would contribute 1% of their income to climate action—yet respondents thought only 43% of others would do the same. That gap between perception and reality defines the untapped 'silent majority' Francis spoke to: people who care, but who may not yet recognize their own collective power.
He was not the first to tap into this spirit. In his belief in the better angels of our nature, Francis echoed a lineage of pragmatic idealists—from Benjamin Franklin's call to hang together or hang separately, to JFK's exhortation to serve the common good. Like his namesake, Francis of Assisi, he reminded us that true change is relational—it comes not from shouting louder, but from walking with others, even those we disagree with.
And there's hunger for that kind of leadership. According to More in Common US, 74% of Americans say they want to work with others to improve their community—yet only 17% have done so in the past year. The desire is there, but the activation is missing. People crave purpose and connection, but they hesitate—especially when it means working across lines of difference.
Leaders like Francis showed us what's possible when we step outside our comfort zones, sit with those who challenge us, and still find common ground.
If we can do that—if we can reclaim our shared stake in each other—then maybe we can begin to reverse more than just our divisions. The World Happiness Report also shows that believing in the goodness of others actually increases our own wellbeing.
Francis understood that. He believed in the moral potential of the 'silent majority'—and he challenged us to act on it, not just for the sake of others, but for our own well-being.
As one reflection often (though loosely) attributed to him puts it: 'Respect yourself, respect others. Walk your own path, and let go of the path others have chosen for you... Love more, forgive more, embrace more, live more intensely.'
Whether or not those were his exact words, the sentiment captures something essential: renewal doesn't begin in politics—it begins in how we choose to show up for one another.
So let's honor Pope Francis not just with eulogies, but with action. Volunteer. Advocate. Join forces with those you don't agree with. Shift from ideas to impact.
Because in a world on fire, as Pope Francis showed us, coming together might just be the most radical thing we can do.