May 15, 1891. Leo XIII: the Catholic Church dives headfirst into the economic arena. Rerum novarum (“Of New Things”) is a theological uppercut against socialism, a fiery response to the shockwaves of the Industrial Revolution.
In it, the pope smashes the idea of collectivism trampling private property, and declares the Church’s allegiance to the market economy.
Private property? A sacred right, the fruit of human labor, which the state must protect (par. 6).
The market? An arena where initiative can shine (par. 32).
A century later, this text remains the compass of Catholic social teaching — a true cry for economic freedom.
A change of era, but continuity with John Paul II, who in 1981 doubles down with Laborem exercens (“Through Work”).
There, he celebrates labor as a divine calling:
“By work, man participates in the work of his Creator,” he thunders (par. 1),
linking human effort to the biblical mandate to “subdue the earth” (Genesis 1:28, cited par. 4).
Made in God’s image, man transforms the world and transcends himself, becoming “more human” with every drop of sweat (par. 4).
According to this vision, the market is not a cold machine: it is a space where human creativity can — and must — be expressed.
Centesimus annus (“The Hundredth Year”, 1991) gives John Paul II the chance to reaffirm the doctrine stated a century earlier by Leo XIII.
He glorifies private property and elevates “know-how, technology, and skills” to the rank of a new kind of wealth — more crucial even than land (par. 32).
Economic initiative? A sacred flame that allows us to “perceive and satisfy the needs of others” (par. 35).
Profits? Not idols, but signs that “productive factors have been properly used and human needs have been satisfied” (par. 35).
John Paul II does not mince words: the free market is an expression of human freedom, an echo of divine creativity.
Was he really that far from Milton Friedman, high priest of unbridled capitalism, who in Capitalism and Freedom proclaimed:
“Economic freedom is an essential condition of political freedom”?
For Friedman, the free market is a motor of human progress that frees the individual from the shackles of the state.
His Free to Choose (1980) resonates in harmony with John Paul II:
“A free market allows millions of people to cooperate peacefully, each pursuing their own interests while contributing to the common good.”
A convergence of struggles with John Paul II?
A heretical wink between Vatican and Chicago, united by their hatred of communism?
Not so fast.
The arrival of the Jesuit troublemaker would stir confusion and pour acid into the gears.
In Evangelii gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”, 2013), Pope Francis lashes out:
“How can it be that it is not a news item when an elderly homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news when the stock market drops two points?” (par. 54).
He targets the apostles of “trickle-down theories,” naively convinced that
“economic growth, encouraged by a free market, will inevitably result in greater justice” (par. 53).
Francis warns against the illusion of a
“crude and naïve trust” in a system that creates an “economy of exclusion” (par. 53).
A true heir of Ignatius of Loyola, whose spirituality—shaped by asceticism and mission—focuses on the marginalized, Francis’s piercing critique bears the Jesuit imprint.
Formed in Argentina’s slums, he has front-row seats to the ravages of savage capitalism: shuttered factories, broken families, shocking inequality.
Coupled with the Jesuit tradition of critical discernment, his analysis cannot embrace the free-market promise of liberty — a trap enriching the powerful and abandoning the weak.
Where John Paul II spoke of market creativity, Francis hears the cry of the excluded.
Now in 2025, free-market loyalists are rallying around Pope Prevost.
His decision to take the name Leo XIV is no accident: it’s a deliberate return to the legacy of 1891, echoing Leo XIII and John Paul II in defending the free market as a path to freedom.
At the same time, a U.S. president seems determined to tear this vision down: Donald Trump despises free markets.
Massive tariffs. Executive orders to cap drug prices. Protectionist rhetoric.
All clear signs that Trump is no friend of the invisible hand.
His interventionist crusade began long ago: he’s been denouncing globalization since 2018.
So, brandishing Rerum novarum’s legacy, might this American Leo XIV soon clash head-on with the President of the United States?
Might he remind Trump that the economy is not a zero-sum game, but a
“community of persons” (par. 35, Centesimus annus) —
a human project where freedom and justice go hand in hand?
History may be setting up a delicious irony: uniting in a shared cause two unlikely figures —
a capitalist tycoon (Trump) and a pope of the poor (Francis).
They certainly didn’t like each other.
And yet, they may share one improbable common ground:
A deep mistrust of free markets.
This Francis — who denounces an “economy that kills,” where the stock market outweighs the homeless (par. 53, Evangelii gaudium) —
Could he, when all is said and done, have more in common with Trump, who sees global trade as a conspiracy against American workers?
Do Francis and Trump both see chaos to be tamed, where Leo XIII, John Paul II, and now Leo XIV see a tool for human dignity?
Before you go… an excerpt from my book:
This ceaseless quest for emotion, for sensation, for always wanting more in my adult life—I owe it to the intensity of that period. Precisely that. Those seven and a half years of my life became a treasure trove for my future profession: finance. Uncertainty became my closest ally, and I learned to respect it. To overcome the unimaginable, to be wary of formalism, to survive—and even thrive—amid great volatility.
My entire career has been about mastering storms—or even capitalizing on them!—and I owe that to those adolescent years. It is so much easier to benefit from disorder, which by definition has no bounds. My creativity, my inventiveness, my resilience were multiplied by the awareness of the ever-expanding possibilities available to those who dare to escape boredom.
Acceleration became an organic element of my life. To slide down the easy, vulgar slope of comforting predictability is the surest way to trap oneself in a tunnel. Man believes he can banish uncertainty by convincing himself that risk can be quantified, that everything can be put into an equation. As a result, the dreamlike quality of the unknown—so feared—gives way to a world devoid of mystery.
That chapter of my life was like a majestic prelude, a dazzling and breathtaking foretaste of what was still to come. You’ll admit: many lives might seem dull in comparison to what I’ve just shared—though, truth be told, I’ve lived through far more than that.
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