On Russian Oligarchs and Jesus: Rethinking Capitalism Through a Moral Lens

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about Russian Oligarchs and Jesus. It’s a strange combination, admittedly—but they represent the two extremes of a spectrum that helps explain where humanity’s greatest invention, voluntary exchange, is headed. And more importantly, where our anti-poverty work fits within the rising tide of the global impact movement.

At one extreme stand the oligarchs—modern-day embodiments of Darwinian conquerors. Like the Mongols, Romans, colonial powers, and fascists before them, they use strength to extract value from the weak, enriching themselves without regard for who suffers in the process. Power begets more power, and morality plays no role in the game.

At the other extreme, there’s Jesus—a symbol of radical compassion and sacrifice. He fought for the poor through the power of ideas, not wealth. He had no riches, no position of official power, yet helped people resist the oppressive systems of the day. It’s a model of moral conviction rarely replicated—one that’s nearly impossible for most of us with families, appetites, and responsibilities to emulate fully.

We’re now 50 years removed from Milton Friedman’s doctrine of “shareholder supremacy” and over 40 years since that model found its corporate avatar in Jack Welch. The consequences of that amoral capitalism—climate change, inequality, political instability—are now undeniable. In response, a generation of leaders has emerged to ask a crucial question: What is capitalism for, and whom should it serve?

Enter the ESG movement—Environmental, Social, and Governance. Though well-intentioned, its impact has been uneven. The “E” has often dominated, while the “S” (social impact) remains underdeveloped. And yet, it’s the “S” that may hold the key to unlocking capitalism’s next chapter—one that reconnects with Adam Smith’s forgotten wisdom from The Theory of Moral Sentiments: that markets only function freely when exchange is both voluntary and moral.

We’re calling this emerging paradigm neo-moral capitalism.

It’s capitalism that makes moral outcomes—such as poverty alleviation—a core part of the business model. Not charity. Not a side project. But outcomes baked directly into the pursuit of profit. In our case, that means building businesses where the people most helped by the enterprise are the very people doing the work.

And yet, there’s tension.

There’s guilt.

Because the symbols of personal success—financial security, nice things, “toys”—still carry the historical baggage of exploitation. Most of our cultural references for “the rich” equate wealth with amorality. And on the other side, figures like Jesus set the moral bar so high that anything short of personal sacrifice seems insufficient.

This guilt runs deep. It’s a habit formed by centuries of stories telling us that wealth is inherently suspect unless it’s forsaken.

But it’s time to break that habit.

Because when profit is generated through fair, empowering, and voluntary exchange—when companies say to workers, “Come work with us. We’ll pay you well, treat you fairly, support your family, and teach you to prosper”—then wealth isn’t exploitative. It’s earned. And it’s moral.

This is the crux of dual-purpose enterprise: organizations that exist to generate both financial and social profit in equal measure. These companies are close cousins to Public Benefit Corporations and B-Corps, but go one step further by defining social profit specifically—often in terms of anti-poverty outcomes.

This is about impact as business model, not marketing.

It plays out in countless sectors:

• Service industries: Businesses that employ people from low-income communities, offering above-market wages, benefits, and upward mobility.

• Agriculture: Buying raw goods from smallholder farmers at fair trade prices that actually allow them to escape poverty.

• Gig work: Repricing digital and logistics platforms so freelancers are compensated for the risk they absorb.

• Manufacturing: Paying garment workers in the developing world enough to live a dignified life—factoring living wages into the cost of goods sold, even if it changes consumer expectations.

These are not acts of charity. These are business strategies designed to create value for all stakeholders, not just shareholders. It’s not the ethics of sacrifice. It’s the economics of inclusion.

And it’s working.

Because businesses built on moral exchange don’t just help people—they outperform. They benefit from lower turnover, stronger communities, deeper brand loyalty, and more sustainable operations. They create environments where workers, customers, and investors alike feel aligned.

This is the future of capitalism—not a rejection of profit, but a redefinition of how it is earned.

One that leaves the Oligarchs behind.

And one that learns from Jesus, without requiring sainthood.