J.D. Vance, perhaps the world’s most prominent Catholic layman, has found his political ideology at odds with the papacy for the second time in as many pontificates.
Vance’s brand of Catholicism favours tradition and he is part of a growing cohort of young Catholics, sometimes affectionately referred to as ‘rad trads’. It is a Tridentine Mass, highly observant Catholicism that reacts against the liberalising reforms of the 1960s, which it sees as corrosive to the truth that came before. These Catholics are found across the world, but particularly in the Anglosphere – and especially in the United States. They attend Mass with reverence, observe Church teaching on sexual morality, and view Catholic doctrine as a much-needed antidote to the ills of modern society. They have chosen to practice the faith, rather than inherit it as a birthright – something especially true for J.D. Vance. His St Augustine-inspired conversion from non-denominational Protestantism to Catholicism was, he explained, a rejection of 21st-century decadence.
Vance’s stance goes one step further than some in the traditionalist faction, since he uses his interpretation of the Catholic faith to justify the Trump administration’s restrictive and nationalist immigration agenda.
And it is this particular policy that has put him at odds with multiple papacies.
Pope Francis and Vance came to ideological blows when, in February this year, Vance justified the administration’s immigration policy by invoking the Augustinian teaching of ordo amoris – the ‘order of love’: the idea that one’s first duty is to love those closest to you – your family, neighbour and nation – and only after that extend love to the wider world.
Less than ten days later, Pope Francis issued a letter to US bishops, refuting Vance’s interpretation of Catholic teaching and citing the better-known Christian ethic found in the parable of the Good Samaritan. The matter, in an un-Trump-like manner, remained doctrinal and never personal, with the two enjoying a cordial meeting the day before Francis’s death. This clash in Christian theology between the Roman Pontiff and the Vice President signalled the rather strange moment we inhabit. Along with the bizarre Trump AI Pope creation, it signalled how Catholicism has unexpectedly taken centre stage in American political life.
The end of Francis’s pontificate was a private source of relief for some on the American right – and for some others, a cause for open celebration. The arrival of Leo XIV was seen by many as a clear sign that American Catholics were back in the driving seat. However, the appointment of an American pontiff – Orthodox and vocal on ethical issues long neglected by Francis, in the eyes of the Catholic right – did not extend to an endorsement of MAGA foreign policy. In fact, quite the opposite.
Three of the then Cardinal Robert Prevost’s most recent X posts were criticisms of the Trump administration’s immigration policy – two of them directed at J.D. Vance, and one of them stating plainly: ‘J.D. Vance is wrong.’ Vance’s papal problems are far from over.
However, Vance is not alone among Catholic heads of state – though in his case, second-in-command – who have openly disagreed with papal teaching while remaining in good standing. European history is littered with examples of Catholic leaders who thought they had grasped the essence of religion better than the Pope.
In the 17th century, Louis XIV of France advanced the Gallican Articles, asserting national Church autonomy and limiting papal influence. Pope Innocent XI refused to approve the articles and condemned them as an attack on the Church’s universal authority.
In the 18th century, Joseph II of the Holy Roman Empire pushed a radical reform agenda known as Josephinism, which sought to subordinate the Church to imperial control. Pope Pius VI protested strenuously, addressing multiple briefs to the emperor and even travelling to Vienna in an attempt to defend ecclesiastical independence.
Charles III of Spain’s expulsion of the Jesuits in 1767, undertaken without papal consent, was deeply opposed by Pope Clement XIII, who saw it as an unjust assault.
However, in all these examples, the papacy ultimately triumphed: Gallicanism petered out, Josephinism no longer exists, and the Jesuits are now the world’s largest religious order.
This, too, will likely be the case for Vance and MAGA’s doctrinal challenge. The historical and theological precedent favouring migrants in the Catholic tradition is simply too entrenched to be cast aside by a novel interpretation of Augustine. Leviticus set the ground several thousand years ago by stating: ‘The stranger who sojourns with you shall be to you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself.’ The Catechism of the Catholic Church, which John Paul II described as a ‘sure norm for teaching the faith’, sets the modern foundation by saying: ‘The more prosperous nations are obliged, to the extent they are able, to welcome the foreigner in search of the security and means of livelihood which he cannot find in his country of origin.’
However, Vance need not despair. Louis XIV of France, Joseph II of the Holy Roman Empire and Charles III of Spain all remained Catholics to the end. It is possible to live a political life at odds with Church teaching – but Vance should not mistake survival for vindication. The final word on doctrine does not rest with a vice president, but the pontiff.
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