What's in the new pope's name?

We can only hope that nominative determinism proves true

Tradition-minded Catholics have greeted the election of our new pope with a mix of relief and wary reserve. When Habemus Papam was declared so quickly, it seemed like a rout against the traditionally inclined. Then came the surprise: the papal name Leo XIII.

It was an unexpected a source of comfort.

Seeing the new Pope don the traditional papal mozzetta and stole, so conspicuously avoided by his predecessor, felt like a reassuring nod to tradition. It signalled a different kind of humility, one where the man disappears into the office rather than stamping his own image on the moment.

For conservatives worried about the Church drifting from its patrimony, these early signs are like balm. Appearances can deceive, of course. But we must take optimistic signs where we find them.

The choice of name seems designed to put us at ease. Names matter. A regnal name is never chosen on a whim. It usually hints at a vision or a promise.

Pope Benedict XVI, for example, chose his name to honour Benedict XV, the pontiff who guided the Church through the First World War and was a “true and courageous prophet of peace”. He also invoked the earlier Benedict, the great monastic saint who helped lay the Christian foundations of Europe.

In 1978, Cardinal Albino Luciani made history by taking a double name: John Paul I. He did so to honour his two predecessors, John XXIII and Paul VI. It was a gesture of continuity and unity during a delicate moment for the Church. After his sudden and tragic death, his successor Karol Wojtyła chose the name John Paul II to carry that unity forward.

And when Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio chose the name Francis in 2013, it marked the first time any pope had done so. It clearly paid homage to St Francis of Assisi, “the man of poverty, the man of peace, the man who loves and protects creation”, as Pope Francis himself explained.

In a way, papal names are a kind of first encyclical. They point to heroes of the faith or beloved predecessors. Those in the know immediately begin to read between the lines.

That is why hearing the name Leo XIII struck such a chord. That name had not echoed in the halls of the Vatican since 1903. By becoming Leo, the new pope invites immediate comparison with one of the towering figures of modern Catholicism.

Leo XIII is something of a hero to many Catholics, myself included. He lived in tumultuous times but managed to engage the modern world on firmly Catholic terms. He combined theological clarity with social concern, intellectual openness without doctrinal compromise, and an unflinching defence of the Church’s rights. He was also farsighted. Many rightly call him the founding father of modern Catholic social teaching.

His 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum, on the condition of labour, laid down principles that remain relevant today and which I try to apply in my own business life. He was not one for vague platitudes or bending doctrine to the winds of change. From the start, he made it clear there would be no watering down of the faith. His first encyclical, Inscrutabili Dei Consilio, bluntly decried the weakening of the Church’s authority in society and the “excesses of unbridled and perverted liberty” that were leading the world astray.

He did not pull punches. He warned that a so-called civilisation that rejects moral truth is no civilisation at all, but a phantom of one. That kind of forthrightness would be a breath of fresh air. So would his re-emphasis on the theology of St Thomas Aquinas, used to restore rigour and clarity to Catholic education.

It may surprise those who stereotype conservatives as indifferent to social issues, but Leo XIII’s social teaching hit the mark. In an age of industrial exploitation, he became the voice of the downtrodden while forthrightly rejecting socialism. Rerum Novarum confronted the misery of workers and the widening gulf between rich and poor. It affirmed the dignity of work and the rights of workers, insisting that wages must be just and sufficient to support a family. At the same time, it stoutly defended private property against socialist attempts to abolish it.

To this day, Rerum Novarum stands as the Magna Carta of Catholic social teaching.

Leo XIII also reigned at a time when secular governments were flexing their muscles against the Church. The Papal States had been lost. Catholic schools and institutions were being squeezed by anti-clerical laws in places like France. Socialism and Freemasonry were spreading and undermining the Church’s influence.

Leo faced these challenges with a lion’s heart. He used diplomacy where possible and earned a reputation for firm but conciliatory dealings with civil authorities. Yet he did not shy away from confrontation when principles were at stake.

He was equally alert to subtle threats. In the United States, some Catholic thinkers were tempted to downplay doctrine in order to blend into the Protestant mainstream. This tendency, later called "Americanism", received a clear rebuke in Testem Benevolentiae, where Leo warned that the Church must never conform to the world for the sake of popularity or ease.

Yet he also engaged the modern world constructively. He showed that faith and reason are allies, not foes. In 1891 he established the Vatican Observatory to demonstrate that the Church “is not opposed to true and solid science, but embraces it, encourages it and promotes it”.

Of course, a name alone is no guarantee. History is full of leaders who took on great names only to disappoint or defy the expectations those names raised.

Yes, the traditional vestments and the illustrious name are encouraging signs. But the true measure of this papacy will be in its actions and teachings over time. Will Pope Leo XIV truly walk in the footsteps of Leo XIII?

We hope and pray he does. We long for a pope who will combine doctrinal solidity with compassion for the poor, who will defend the Church’s liberty while engaging the modern world in truth and charity. That would be something worth celebrating.

But let us be honest: this pope is a liberal and a key proponent of synodality. That word means many things to many people, but in practice it often translates into endless consultation, ambiguous documents and the outsourcing of magisterial responsibility to committees and processes.

Whatever synodality may be, Leo XIII it is not. The old pope was direct. He spoke with clarity. He led from the front. His encyclicals were thunderbolts, not riddles wrapped in nuance. For him, governance meant proclaiming truth and refuting error, not perpetual discernment with no clear end.

And it is hard to predict how a pontificate will unfold. John XXIII, who called the Second Vatican Council, was expected to be a placeholder. John Paul I reigned for just over a month. Pius IX began as a liberal reformer and ended as a reactionary icon. Benedict XVI, called “God’s rottweiler,” proved too gentle and scholarly for the brutal demands of the job and resigned in quiet defeat. Francis took the name of the poor man of Assisi but has governed with the instincts of a South American political operator, blending populist gestures with opaque manoeuvring and backroom politics.

In the end, Catholics will judge this papacy by its outcomes. Pope Leo XIII left behind a rich harvest of teaching and a Church strengthened for the twentieth century. If our new Leo can manage even a portion of that legacy, he will have served the Church and the world well.

His name sets a high bar. Now we must see if he lives up to the lionhearted legacy it recalls.

Nomen est omen, the name is a sign. We have seen the sign. Now we wait. And we pray. For the pope and ourselves. That is all we ever can do.

Coda: Of course, the first of the Leos, Saint Leo the Great, was a complete badass. His whose Tome settled disputes about Christ’s nature with clarity and force. As the Council of Chalcedon said, “Peter has spoken through Leo.”

When the Roman Empire was crumbling and the barbarians were at the gates, it wasn’t a general or emperor who stepped forward. It was Leo. He rode out to meet Attila the Hun, who had left entire cities in ash and blood, and persuaded him to turn back from Rome.

Just like that. No army, no tribute. Just authority.

Roman in the old sense of the word.