The partisan division that runs deep in America has recently taken a violent turn. Political affiliations manifest competing visions for the country’s future, and increasingly, for human life itself.
Is freedom absolute in a way that should progress no matter the consequences? Or, are there fundamental truths and goods that should be conserved and respected?
We often speak of the fundamental divide between these general positions as right-wing and left-wing, conservative and liberal, as solely political, without realizing the surprising Catholic connection to their origin.
It’s common to hear Catholics object to the use of right-left and conservative-liberal labels in the Church. Nonetheless, it’s impossible to deny the existence of factions that have arisen broadly along these lines. Factions are nothing new, of course, as St. Paul made clear to the Corinthians: “For, in the first place, when you assemble as a church, I hear that there are divisions among you; and I partly believe it, for there must be factions among you in order that those who are genuine among you may be recognized” (1 Cor 11:18-19). Controversies over doctrine, liturgy and morality tend to divide into two major factions, and conservative and liberal labels capture, in a generally accurate way, the positions of either preservation or innovation.
Contemporary divisions within the Church, although not identical to political camps, often align in surprising ways. This reality took center stage recently as a major figure in the progressive Catholic camp, Cardinal Blaise Cupich, created enormous controversy in seeking to honor a Democratic politician, Senator Dick Durbin, with a long track record of supporting abortion. On the other hand, churchmen dedicated to the defense of human life, marriage, and religious freedom often find allies in the Republican party. In fact, three bishops in the United States currently serve on President Trump’s Religious Liberty Commission. Given dynamics both within and outside of the Church, the “left and right” or “liberal and conservative” should not be dismissed as inapplicable or irrelevant.
“Right” and “left” as political labels go back to the French Revolution, particularly to the National Assembly, where representatives lined up either to the right or left of the Assembly’s President, depending on whether they supported the rights of the king (the right), the position of most Catholics, or favored abolishing the monarchy (the left) and the rights of the Church along with it. After the king’s downfall, those considered to be on the right favored a restoration of the ancien régime, while the left continued to advocate for the further liberalization of society along republican or democratic lines.
This political division carried enormous religious significance, as one side advanced the French notion of laicité (the removal of any public role for the Church) and the legalization of divorce, while the other sought to restore the union of throne and altar.
Following the French Revolution, popes supported the restoration of Catholic monarchs and even disciplined priests who advocated for democracy. The Second Vatican Council, however, brought about a rehabilitation for Catholics holding positions associated with political liberalism by fostering greater openness to the modern world. Vatican II largely buried the traditional right-left division among Catholics, who had supported either the restoration of monarchy or modern democracy (although the word “democracy” does not appear in its documents).
The right-left divide in recent decades now mostly breaks along the lines of those who support traditional values within modern democracy (the new right) versus those continuing to push the revolution against any form of traditional authority and morality (the new left).
Vatican II, however, created a new form of the right-left divide, not wholly unrelated to the prior usage. On the one hand, there is the conservative or traditional movement, which emphasizes continuity with the Church’s tradition prior to the Council, particularly in relation to the liturgy. On the other hand, progressives stress openness to modern culture, shaped by modern democracy and its emphasis on freedom.
Pope Benedict XVI had his own way of characterizing it as two competing hermeneutics (interpretations) of Vatican II, typified on the one hand by “discontinuity and rupture,” which “has frequently availed itself of the sympathies of the mass media, and also one trend of modern theology.” On the other hand, he identifies a “hermeneutic of reform,” typified by “renewal in the continuity of the one subject-Church which the Lord has given to us” (Address to Roman Curia, December 22, 2005).
This divide certainly exists and shapes how many pursue priorities in the Church. Often, those dedicated to conserving the theological tradition of the Church also seek to uphold fundamental values of life and the family. Those who favor rupture in matters of doctrine and morality often prioritize social justice over other issues.
Perhaps factions are inevitable or even necessary, as Paul conceded. Catholics must take a stand on pressing issues—social ones, such as voting, and spiritual ones, like finding a new parish, with many willing to drive outside their immediate territorial parish for more traditional or contemporary options. In an age of change, when everything seems in flux, Catholics face two major choices: either to dig in their heels to some degree or follow along with the current of change.
The Body of Christ, however, cannot be divided in its essence. Factions may exist due to human weakness, though there is only “one Lord, one faith, one baptism” (Ephesians 4:5). Even as we take a stand, work with like-minded people, and oppose evil, we must do so as Christians who ultimately transcend party politics. More than a call to “get along,” we need a primary commitment to Christ that rises above divisions and other allegiances. The Beatitudes offer a concrete path to transcend factionalism and rise above squabbles, no matter how important. We will be blessed if we seek the Kingdom before all else, make peace, remain meek and merciful and suffer for righteousness’ sake rather than retaliating or seeking revenge.
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In all major variants of modern self-understanding—the idealistic (liberal), the materialist (Marxist), the existentialist (e.g., Nietzsche), and the positivist (Comte)—man tends to see himself as a fundamentally cosmopolitan being, discovering the world and forming his identity primarily through his actions. In this anthropological perspective, the religious dimension of human life is often treated as secondary or, at times, dispensable.
This modern mindset helps explain the post-conciliar debates within the Church, particularly the tension between those emphasizing discontinuity and rupture and those advocating reform in continuity, as identified by Pope Benedict XVI. Cultural currents in which religion is marginal or instrumental naturally shape how Catholics approach modernity, morality, and political engagement.
A parallel can be drawn to international politics, where two schools of thought—the “universalists,” who envision world peace through the transcendence of nation-states, and the “realists,” who prioritize the concrete interests of states—have clashed over the last century. Both, lacking a profound theology of history, have tended toward utopianism or Machiavellian pragmatism. Similarly, within the Church, the polarization between the modernist (typically German-Lutheran) and the traditionalist (Latin) approaches illustrates the tension between idealism and continuity.
Yet the Church’s social doctrine offers a clear framework that transcends these factions. It identifies three poles of engagement: the horizontal pole of justice, the vertical pole of natural law with its non-negotiable principles, and the pole of religious freedom (as articulated in Dignitatis humanae). By attending to all three, Catholics can navigate contemporary challenges, uphold core truths, and act in the world without succumbing to factionalism.