When a great man and leader of the Roman-Catholic Church – and beyond it – like Pope Francis dies, it may seem almost impious to speak or write about politics. But in his case, we know for certain that it simply means doing what he told us to do.

For one of his fundamental teachings was that we have a religious and moral – not merely a civic – duty to engage in politics. He made this clear, for instance, in one of his major statements, the 2020 encyclical Fratelli Tutti (All Brothers). There, he spelled out the pronouncedly broad and political – not merely intimate, small-scale, or private – meaning of the story of the Good Samaritan, one of the most famous parables taught by the founder of all types of Christianity, Jesus of Nazareth.

In Fratelli Tutti, Francis stressed that the Good Samaritan story “summons us to rediscover our vocation as citizens of our respective nations and of the entire world, builders of a new social bond” in order “to direct society to the pursuit of the common good.” That is about as far away as you can get from the intellectual platitude and ethical cop-out of religion-is-just-a-private-matter. And that was a good thing, too.

Because, as Francis made clear time and again, he – rightly – saw our world in deep social, ecological, and, fundamentally, spiritual crisis. If you share his belief or not, it is important to understand that political engagement to save this world, for him, was a matter of survival of not just a species and its much-abused planet, but of God’s creation.

There is something else we should remember about this late pope. He was known for being both genuinely relatable – especially with the poor, weak, abused, sinful (his last major meeting was with JD Vance, after all), and troubled – and, at the same time, capable of harsh rebuke and tough determination. Having worked as a bouncer in his youth and later as a Jesuit taskmaster, he knew how to handle the gathering of careerist, vain, pushy, and scheming egos that the higher Church also is.

He was a decent and mostly kind man, but no push-over. And yet, with all his assertiveness, he was also humble, not in an ostentatious but a substantial manner: the kind of humility that makes you give up on many of the lifestyle perks that have corrupted the papacy and instead wash the feet of prison inmates. Or admit that you are not the one to judge, as once when commenting on a priest who was said to be gay.

Think about it: it is true, obviously; and, by the standards of tradition, it is at the same time something sensationally extraordinary for a pope to say about a priest. For, remember, the Roman-Catholic Church, is not a fake democracy – as secular states usually are now – but an unabashed absolute, if elective, monarchy.

Against that background – Francis’s instructions to engage with politics and his fundamental humility – two simple questions make sense: What is the political meaning of his tenure as pope between 2013 and 2025? And where did he succeed and where did he fail?

A full disclosure won’t do any harm either: I am writing about this pope as someone raised as a Roman-Catholic yet now largely lapsed. Largely, because, in reality, with something like a Catholic upbringing, about which I am far........

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