In a hopeful but also worrying article published in the April issue of this magazine, Thomas Geoghegan wrote that “as a Catholic, I can take some comfort in the fact that Trump has yet to liquidate the U.S. Catholic Church.” Trump hasn’t absorbed it the way he has conservative white Evangelicals (in a kind of para-Christian political-religious entrepreneurialism), and that is something to be thankful for. But Catholicism hasn’t been totally spared by Trumpism. And there’s little comfort to be gained from the fact that his main opponents in the Catholic political realm—President Biden and Pope Francis—are increasingly at odds over the wars in Ukraine and Israel and Gaza. The other looming concern: What happens after Biden and Francis are no longer on the stage?
The end of the most similar U.S.-Vatican alignment—the presidency of John F. Kennedy and papacy of John XXIII—offers a precedent. In November 1964, Ramparts magazine ran an article titled “The Goldwater/McIntyre Axis.” A cover image showed Republican presidential candidate Barry Goldwater’s head on the body of a rattlesnake, with a caricature of Cardinal James Francis McIntyre, archbishop of Los Angeles from 1948 to 1970, as the tail. “No one can be certain that the Cardinal will vote for the Senator on November 3, but if the tables were reversed, it is quite certain that the Senator would vote for the Cardinal,” concluded Edward M. Keating, the article’s author. Years later, in a 1999 essay, Catholic historian Jeffrey Burns wrote of Keating’s “ten-page rant against the cardinal’s attitude toward race. The depiction of McIntyre as racist and uncaring was patently unfair. His attitude can more accurately be described as obtuse. He simply did not understand the depth of the racial problems in Los Angeles. Nor did he understand the passionate commitment of students and activists who regarded the civil rights issue as the moral issue of the day.” That depiction was unfair, but the article also established just how much had changed in the twelve months following Kennedy’s assassination.
Just over six months out from the 2024 presidential election, it could be said that a “Trump-Strickland” axis may be coming into existence. The “Strickland” (as in Joseph Strickland, deposed bishop of Tyler, Texas) might stand for those quarters of U.S. Catholicism drawn to performances like last month’s Mar-a-Lago prayer event at the former president’s residence, where Trump was presented as “the only Catholic option” for voters. But the “Trump-Strickland” axis isn’t just political. It mixes ahistorical, magisterial fundamentalism in militant Catholicism with nationalistic impulses masquerading as concern for the “forgotten” common American (white) man. So in some sense it does feel like 1963–1964: instead of Vatican II, we have a synodal process with unclear prospects; an aging pope without a clear line of succession for the next conclave; and a presidency that, because of Biden’s age and electoral prospects, feels like it could end without a clear idea of a post-Biden Democratic party. There’s also a sense of the reduced or changing roles of the United States and the Catholic Church on the global stage, as well as the general sense of an end of an era for the Church.
But there are significant differences, too. The “Goldwater-McIntyre axis” suggested a coalescence of conservative concerns and reactionary resistance to change, particularly in regards to civil rights and Vatican II. But neither man flouted the law or social conventions the way Trump and Strickland do. Nor was there an actual alliance between them. The current axis poses greater danger because Strickland apes Trump in promoting a more strident, even violent, representation of conservative/populist concerns. Both basically ignore any authority but their own. Goldwater and McIntyre were more grounded in reality.
The links between Trumpism and certain sectors of Christianity and Catholicism have been subjected to a range of interpretations: Biblical (Romans 13 and obedience to authority); Christological (Trump as anti-Christ); and social-justice oriented (the reversal of the command to love). But an ecclesiological interpretation may shed greater light. Consider Strickland’s media stunt outside the USCCB assembly last November: it was essentially a challenge to the authority and relevance of the conference. Long gone are the days when neo-conservatives felt it a worthy or necessary endeavor to work with the USCCB and the Vatican to influence the final wording of the 1980s pastoral letters on peace and economic justice. Politicization and anti-institutionalism (aided by the development of Catholic ecclesiology of synodality) have created a vacuum. No one pays attention to what the bishops say and do, or what they agree or disagree on; rather, Strickland and clerics like him have rushed to fill the void, asserting themselves and amplifying their message online in very Trumpian fashion.