The recent meeting between John Elkann and Pope Leo XIV has been presented as a high-level dialogue between business and faith. In reality, some critics see it rather differently—as a sophisticated image-washing exercise.
Ferrari appears to be seeking legitimacy for a controversial product at a time of fierce criticism over elitism, environmental concerns, and what many perceive as a departure from the traditional DNA of the Prancing Horse. From the other side, the Church risks being used as a symbolic backdrop to elevate an ultra-luxury product. A media embrace that, to some, appears driven more by convenience than spirituality.
The controversial symbolism of the Ferrari Luce name
Calling Ferrari’s first electric car “Luce” is seen by some not as a tribute to Genesis, but as an almost arrogant appropriation in questionable taste.
“God said, ‘Let there be light.’ And there was light” is a phrase associated with creation, life, and universality. Using it to name a car costing well over €500,000, weighing nearly two and a half tonnes, operating in near silence and relying on artificial engine sounds, strikes some observers as marketing arrogance rather than inspiration.
The true evangelical idea of light is associated with illuminating the poor and the humble. Ferrari’s version, critics argue, illuminates only the garages of billionaires while justifying an extraordinary price tag with technology many purists regard as a betrayal.
Luca di Montezemolo’s harsh verdict
Few voices carry as much authority when discussing Ferrari as Luca Cordero di Montezemolo, who led the company for more than two decades.
His comments on the Luce have been particularly severe: “If I said what I really think, I would damage Ferrari. There is a risk of destroying a myth, and I am deeply sorry. I hope they at least remove the Prancing Horse from that car.”
He added another pointed remark: “This is certainly a car the Chinese will not copy.”
Luca di Montezemolo is not simply another nostalgic former executive. He is the man who oversaw Ferrari during some of its most successful and defining years. His criticism carries considerable weight, especially when the accusation is that under John Elkann’s leadership, Ferrari risks losing its soul in pursuit of global trends, forced electrification, and externally influenced design philosophies that some believe have little connection to Maranello’s historic spirit.
When a former Ferrari president suggests removing the Prancing Horse badge entirely, the message is impossible to ignore: for some, this no longer feels like a true Ferrari.
A false light?
“God said, ‘Let there be light.’” That light was universal, life-giving and freely available. Ferrari’s “light,” according to its harshest critics, is exclusive, expensive, heavy, and—if voices like Montezemolo are to be believed—risks extinguishing the Ferrari myth rather than illuminating it.
The meeting between John Elkann and Pope Leo XIV may well have been a routine institutional courtesy, but for critics it does little to bridge what they see as the enormous gap between the Christian message of simplicity and humility and a vehicle that represents exclusivity as a status symbol.
Ferrari is at its greatest, many would argue, when its cars deliver emotion through sound, lightness, character and visceral performance—not when they seek symbolic elevation through biblical references or Vatican associations.
The real question, then, is whether this is genuine illumination for Ferrari’s future—or simply a polished reflection on the bodywork of a half-million-euro car that risks dimming the legend of the Prancing Horse.
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