Interfaith marriages are rarely simple. The fuss over JD and Usha Vance’s relationship shows why. Speaking at the University of Mississippi earlier this week, the Vice President reaffirmed his Catholic faith and said he hopes his Hindu wife will one day embrace Christianity — though he added that it’s ultimately her choice.

Unsurprisingly, Vance’s remarks provoked a strong reaction. Activists and social media commentators accused him of throwing his wife under the bus and pandering to far-Right Groypers. Since then, he has doubled down, saying he still hopes Usha will embrace Christianity and attributing the backlash to “anti-Christian bigotry”. His faith, he added, teaches him that “the Gospel is true and is good for human beings.”

At one level, Vance’s view is hardly shocking. To the devout, religion is more than a matter of personal conscience: it is something to be lived, taught, and passed down. Shared belief within a family makes that far simpler. As 2 Corinthians cautions, “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.” The warning, then, is clear: mixed marriages risk moral and spiritual tension which can draw believers away from their faith.

But it’s also interesting that the flip side of the question isn’t asked. Why doesn’t Vance convert to Hinduism? After all, his wedding was a Vedic Hindu one. Yet for some reason, public discourse almost always assumes the primacy of Abrahamic faiths.

Like Islam, Christianity is a universalist, proselytising faith. It teaches that it alone possesses the “good news” and the sole path to salvation. From this belief arises a sense of superiority over other religions: the faithful cannot simply keep the gospel to themselves, and must spread it so that others may be saved. In this way, Christianity assumes the world should ultimately be Christian. By contrast, Hinduism lacks this missionary zeal, presenting itself instead as a multifaceted tradition in which truth can be realised through many paths. The poet Fernando Pessoa captures a similar pluralistic perspective in “Hate You, Christ, I Do Not”, contrasting the “exclusive idolater of Christ” with a recognition that “life is multiple […] and only as multiple shall we be with reality and alone.”

If Vance takes his Catholicism seriously, then the crucifixion and resurrection must carry real meaning for him. He must also believe that as long as his wife remains a Hindu, does not profess Jesus as her Lord and Saviour, and does not follow the one true church, she risks condemnation on the Day of Judgment for rejecting Christ’s grace when she had the chance. That is why he holds hope that she will convert: to save her.

That interfaith relationships are now mostly banal and uncontroversial reflects how religion in the modern world has largely become a matter of cultural identity. The spiritual and moral tensions that might once have arisen in such marriages have, for the most part, been diluted. As a firm atheist, I am not personally affected by Usha Vance’s religious choices. Still, part of me hopes she does not convert to Christianity — especially not under public pressure or for political reasons — because it would send the wrong message. That is, that being Hindu somehow conflicts with being a proud American engaged in public life, when clearly it does not.

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Ralph Leonard is a British-Nigerian writer on international politics, religion, culture and humanism.

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