An ancient ethical maxim, traditionally ascribed to Chilon of Sparta — one of the illustrious Seven Sages of Greece — and transmitted through the revered writings of Diogenes Laërtius, counsels that no reproach be cast upon the departed, enjoining a solemn silence where calumny might otherwise find voice. This august injunction was enshrined for posterity in the hallowed Latin adage: De mortuis nil nisi bonum dicendum est — “Of the deceased, naught but good is to be pronounced.”

But shall we shy away from the truth simply because the subject has journeyed home? On the contrary — within the noble pursuit of leadership inquiry, it is not only appropriate but essential to cast an unflinching gaze upon the darker contours and missteps of those once revered.

Such clear-eyed scrutiny is not to be mistaken for condemnation but must be understood as an exercise in principled discernment: a means of lifting the veil, exposing the insidious patterns which — far from being modern aberrations — have emerged, reappeared, and entrenched themselves down the annals of human history. Echoing through time, Ecclesiastes’ memento rings clear: “There is nothing new under the sun.”

In apprehending these recurring faults, we equip ourselves to fortify the foundations and elevate the standards of leadership, thereby drawing nearer to breaking the cycles that have long impaired our collective progress.

One such enduring pattern resides in the very act of writing history. Creative revisionism — subtle in form, yet often deliberate in intent — persistently serves as a narrative mechanism by which the memory of the past is sculpted, recast, or repurposed to sanctify the present and pave the path for future control.

This theoretically grounded and empirically observed tendency invites a sobering reflection: that historical writing, in its most rigorous conception, discloses not the objective facticity nor the veritable substance of the actual events it purports to recount, but rather the power, perspectives and prevailing interests of the ruling elite at the moment of its composition. Against this backdrop, George Orwell’s trenchant insight retains its instructive force: “Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.”

Likewise, particularly within the spheres of religion and ideology, the full gestalt and profound richness of traditional teachings are seldom faithfully conveyed in their entirety. Rather, the intellectual patrimony is frequently fragmented and reshaped to conform to strategic aims of legitimization. The deleterious ramifications of such curated transmission poignantly echo the timeless parable of the blind men and the elephant — each apprehending but a portion and thus forging a distorted conception of the whole.

The late Pope Francis, though hailed by many as an inclusive reformer, did not escape the perils of selective moral emphasis and partial judgment. Conspicuously, in his earthly ministry, he sought to embody the mercy of Christ, but his actions betrayed a troubling incompleteness and imbalance. A critical yet fair evaluation of his papacy reveals deficiencies that extend well beyond superficial and incidental missteps and need to be juxtaposed with his strengths.

This kind of vigilant examination assumes greater urgency beneath the prevailing progressive refrain of self-appointed narrative shapers, tastemaker, and gatekeepers who tirelessly exalt his supposed abundance of virtues — often echoed uncritically with near-liturgical zeal by an enthused and ecstatic throng within both popular and ecclesial discourse.

Many erudite and discerning minds falter in reconciling this fervent dithyramb — one that smothers sober reflection and muffles measured dissent — with the ledger of history, a dissonance so strident that it warrants a reassessment, both searching and unsparing, in light of mounting countervailing evidence and truths long eclipsed.

The initial focus here centers on the pope’s foremost failing: to appease sin by diverting attention from repentance and redemption — favoring synods over spiritual surgery, and dialogue over doctrine. Metaphorically, the shepherd’s relinquishment of his crook, substituting conviction with compromise, bespeaks, as critics may assert, a grievous dereliction: not merely a forfeiture of authority, but a profound breach of the Holy Father’s solemn duty to cleanse his flock — not merely a failure of governance, but a profound betrayal of the Church’s prophetic and pastoral mandate.

Drawing upon Rembrandt’s chef-d’oeuvre “The Return of the Prodigal Son” as both a visual scorecard and hermeneutic key (see Figure 1), the ensuing contention advanced here stands on firm ground and thereby warrants due acknowledgment: Pope Francis has, at minimum, fallen short in directing the gaze of mainstream journalists towards the quintessential, transformative message embodied by the genuine movens of the Lukan parable of quest — the prodigal son himself. That figure’s epic penitential journey animates the entire tale of moral and relational renewal and propels the progression of the plot. Narrated with exquisite economy — wherein, as in the grand drama of salvation, no detail is superfluous — it reaches its consummate fulfillment in a redemptive nostos (homecoming).

Put in a nutshell, the Vicar of Christ extolled mercy yet understated the urgent salvific necessity of restorative justice. Though he envisioned the Church as a field hospital in the aftermath of battle, he surrendered his vital post and sacred duty as surgeon general, dispensing comfort without cure. He failed to consistently lay bare and confront the abhorrent nature and existential threat of sin and to insist on repentance as the thorned but ineluctable path to the mystery of redemption.

Called to be the Church’s chief healer of souls, Pope Francis ought to have discerned that a physician does not aid the gravely afflicted by neglecting to diagnose the condition — be it bodily, mental, or spiritual — nor by concealing its severity. To placate while suppressing truth, to assure wellness where there is disease, and to deny treatment at the hour of necessity, is to abandon the art of healing itself.

Sacred Scripture — complimentarily elucidating the narrative antecedent to the luminous instant immortalized by the renowned seventeenth-century Dutch master of chiaroscuro (the artful contrast of light and shadow) — serves simultaneously as both witness and corrective, casting penetrating light........

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