Leo simply finished a document Francis had started, and it shows. It attempts to reinforce Francis's heresy on the death penalty, despite the Magisterium being clear.
From One Peter Five
By Gaetano Masciullo
The Apostolic Exhortation Dilexi Te, published by Pope Leo XIV on October 9, 2025, serves as the connecting link between the pontificates of Francis and Prevost.
Topics echo those reiterated relentlessly over the past twelve years: poverty, a poor Church, the primacy of welfare, condemnation of economic inequality, social justice, theology of the people, the throw-away culture, ecological crisis, the double poverty of women (due to the denial of rights), the humanitarian emergency of migrants, the political necessity of popular movements (the famous comunidad de base of Bergoglian memory), the imperative to use science and technology to transform society, and above all, unwavering trust in States and international organizations — presented as privileged agents of social justice and even described as the custodians of a phantom and unsettling “right of control.”
However, in this commentary I do not intend to dwell on the problematic theological and sociological framework, which posits economic inequality (rather than sin) as the root of all social evils, and resource redistribution (rather than grace) as their remedy.
Material poverty is presented, paradoxically, both as a grave social ill and as one of the highest spiritual goods — leaving the reader uncertain whether its eradication is truly desirable, or whether the real goal is simply the removal of the rich, so that universal poverty might mean universal happiness.
Nor is it clear whether the Exhortation’s language draws a meaningful distinction between “spiritual” and “psychological.”
This stands in contrast to classical theology, which regards poverty in spirit and evangelical poverty as two profoundly powerful spiritual instruments. They differ from material poverty in that they are not concerned with the quantity of wealth one possesses, but rather with the disposition of the heart — its affective detachment from all earthly goods, including human relationships — and are marked by their voluntary nature. Thus, a rich and powerful king may be poor in spirit, while a homeless man may be a vicious, proud and depraved sinner.
Evangelical poverty, in particular, is a chosen way of life inspired by the example of Christ and the disciples, who “had nowhere to lay their heads.”[1] It carries a strong penitential dimension, akin to voluntary celibacy.
St. Thomas Aquinas explains when poverty is praiseworthy:
Virginity entails abstention from all sexual pleasure, and poverty involves the renunciation of all wealth; but both must be embraced for a just end: according to God’s command and in view of eternal life. If, on the other hand, they are practiced improperly — out of superstition, excessive fear, or vainglory — one exceeds the proper measure, and this is not virtue. Conversely, if they are not observed when and how they ought to be, one falls into vice by deficiency.[2]
Material poverty, by contrast, insofar as it is involuntary or even coerced (as occurs in certain socio-political contexts), is not meritorious in itself, nor is it inherently synonymous with humility. Indeed, it is entirely possible for materially poor individuals to be spiritually proud and even greedy. In short, the issue of poverty seems to be addressed in a rather crude and simplistic manner.
What is also troubling is the apparent confusion within the Exhortation regarding material poverty and the poverty in spirit referenced in the Gospel.
St. Thomas, echoing Catholic Tradition and the Patristic heritage, reminds us that “the first beatitude is: Blessed are the poor in spirit, which may refer either to the contempt of riches or to the contempt of honors — something that occurs through humility.”[3]
However, there is another element I believe worth emphasizing in our analysis of Dilexi Te: namely, its apparent indulgence of the growing confusion — now widespread even within the Catholic Church — between charity, love, and philanthropy. Although the three concepts may overlap, in Catholic theological language they refer to profoundly distinct realities that must be rigorously distinguished. To conflate them is to open the door to that spiritual and social drift which I call “neo-Pharisaism.”
As the reader knows, the Pharisees were a sect of ancient Judaism that preached strict adherence to the Law. They formed a religious caste — but notably, not a priestly one. On the contrary, they were mostly laymen (rabbis and scholars) who composed the Sanhedrin, a tribunal of “experts” tasked with educating the people. According to the Pharisees, salvation was attained through good works.
They interpreted Mosaic doctrine more as orthopraxy than orthodoxy. Only through good works could a person be considered morally pure. The Hebrew term perushim means “pure” and “set apart,” much like the later use of the word Cathar in medieval Europe.
Today, a similar trend can be observed within the Church: the prioritization of works over doctrine; the primacy of the communal dimension over the sacerdotal; and a growing trust in “experts” tasked with guiding not only the laity but even the clergy in their decisions.
This, inevitably, leads to significant social consequences — such as the compulsion to “display” one’s goodness by ostentatiously showcasing acts of almsgiving. Hence Christ’s condemnation of the leaven of the Pharisees: the vice of hypocrisy.
Let us recall, however, that in Catholic doctrine the relationship with good works follows a different order and logic. Let us attempt to examine this issue more closely.
The first evident parallel concerns the excessive primacy of works over interior life. The ancient Pharisees attributed salvific power to mere observance of the laws and to external works. Similarly, today within the Church one observes a disproportionate emphasis on philanthropic actions and adherence to civil law. In the time of the ancient Jews, civil and religious law were one and the same; today they are not — but the underlying logic remains unchanged.
Modern philanthropy has become a “measure of morality” even before serving as a tool of social prestige, and it supplants the primacy of charity understood as a theological virtue — born of love for God and extended to one’s neighbor.
When these concepts are confused, there is a risk of replacing true love with a “functional” love, one measured by visible deeds or tangible outcomes, without genuine engagement of the heart and will. In this way, religious practice is reduced to a kind of “moral competition,” much like what occurred among the Pharisees in their ritual pride. In today’s Church, this attitude is particularly evident, even though its existence is routinely denied by those who perpetuate it.
A doctrinal translation of this neo-Pharisaism is evident, among other things, in the theology developed by Karl Rahner, known as the theory of “anonymous Christianity.” According to the neo-Modernist Jesuit, one who, though neither knowing Christ nor belonging to the Catholic Church, lives according to good principles and in service to others, participates in the salvation of Christ.
Caution is warranted: the doctrine of anonymous Christianity goes beyond the classical and orthodox teaching, according to which a man — though unaware of Christ — may attain salvation if his ignorance is invincible and he adheres to the natural law. This constitutes a possible path to salvation, but one that is extraordinary — hence rare and difficult to pursue.
By contrast, the doctrine of anonymous Christianity asserts that salvation is universal — more ordinary than commonly believed — and rests not so much on the notion of natural law as on the notion of service to one’s neighbor. Rahner spoke of “inclusive grace.” But is this truly what Sacred Scripture and Catholic doctrine teach?
It is necessary to reiterate a point that often escapes even the most attentive Catholics: charity does not coincide with the sentiment we call love. The theological virtue of charity is a supernatural virtue that disposes the will to pursue above all else what God desires of us, and thus to will the true good of our neighbor as well.
Now, grave sin is called mortal because it kills charity, and as St. Thomas clarifies, “there can be no true justice, true chastity [or any other true virtue] whatsoever if the proper orientation to the end provided by charity is lacking, even if one relates rightly to other things.”[4]
In other words, a man may feel compassion for the poor even while living in mortal sin, but such compassion is not the theological virtue of charity — that supernatural disposition which engages the will, not mere sentiment. St. Paul, in his famous hymn to charity, writes: “Even if I were to give away all my possessions to the poor, but did not have charity, it would profit me nothing.”[5]
The principle is clear: salvation does not come through works or philanthropy, but through the grace of God, given in faith and increased through the Sacraments. Faith is a necessary but not sufficient condition for salvation; grace is necessary, yet grace itself cannot be received without a well-formed faith. Good works are effects and manifestations of the life of grace — not autonomous sources of salvation.
The ostentation of good works constitutes yet another element of neo-Pharisaism. St. Thomas observes that the merit of works is nullified when a virtuous act is performed in order to gain human glory or recognition.[6] The publicity surrounding the deed seduces the ego and distracts from the worship that must be rendered to God — even in the act of supporting the poor.[7]
It follows that charity does not coincide with philanthropy. Works performed without grace are not meritorious in the eyes of God. Let us once again cite the thought of St. Thomas, who is unequivocal on this point: “Mortal sin completely destroys charity, both as a cause and as a demerit, because one who sins mortally acts against charity and thereby deserves that God take it away.”[8] Therefore, as a consequence of mortal sin, not only is charity — being the very grace of God — removed, but “all the infused virtues are likewise eliminated,”[9] even though they may “coexist with the acquired [natural[10]] virtues.”[11] “Works performed without charity [that is, without the grace of God, Ed.] are not meritorious before God.”[12]
It also happens that good works performed while one is in the state of grace are “rendered dead [i.e., non-meritorious, Ed.] by subsequent sin” and “do not have the power to lead to eternal life.”[13] However, after due penance, the works carried out prior to grave sin “regain the capacity to lead to eternal life for the one who performed them.”[14] By contrast, “generically good” works performed while one is not in the state of grace are works that were never alive — that is, never meritorious — and therefore it is impossible for them to “come back to life through penance.”[15]
And yet, it is good and desirable that one who is in a state of mortal sin perform objectively good works, for “the more good works one performs while in sin, the more one disposes oneself to the grace of contrition.”[16]
This entire doctrine, which the Church has embraced in the infallible magisterial pronouncements of Popes and Councils, is founded on the words of Scripture, which declare: “All our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment”;[17] and again: “If a man turns away from his righteousness and commits iniquity, all the righteous deeds he has done shall not be remembered”;[18] and again: “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves; it is the gift of God. Not by works, so that no one may boast”;[19] and again: “Those who are in the flesh cannot please God”;[20] and again: “Without faith it is impossible to please God”;[21] and again: “You have faith and I have works. Show me your faith without works, and I will show you my faith by my works.”[22]
[1] Luke 9, 58.
[2] S.Th. I-II, q. 64, a. 1, ad 3.
[3] S.Th. I-II, q. 69, a. 3, co.
[4] S.Th. II-II, q. 23, a. 7, ad 2.
[5] 1Cor 13, 3.
[6] S.Th. II-II, q. 23, a. 8, co.
[7] cf. Mt 25, 40.
[8] S.Th. II-II, q. 24, a. 10, co.
[9] S.Th. I-II, q. 71, a. 4, co.
[10] Temperance, prudence, justice, fortress.
[11] ibid.
[12] S.Th. suppl. q. 14, a. 4, co.
[13] S.Th. III, q. 89, a. 5, co.
[14] ibid.
[15] S. Th. III, q. 89, a. 6, co.
[16] S. Th. suppl. q. 14, a. 3, ad 1.
[17] Isaiah 64, 6.
[18] Ezekiel 18, 24.
[19] Ephesians 2, 8–9.
[20] Romans 8, 8.
[21] Hebrews 11, 6.
[22] James 2, 18.
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