Bad Popes And The Conclave

Ah, the Papal conclave — that time-honored tradition where a bunch of elderly men in red robes are locked in a room until they agree on who gets to wear the fanciest hat in Christendom. It’s the spiritual equivalent of Survivor, except with more Latin and significantly fewer immunity challenges. Yet behind all the pomp, incense, and smoke signals lies a history that’s more Game of Thrones than Gospel.

The term “conclave” comes from the Latin cum clave, meaning “with a key,” because yes, they literally lock the cardinals in a room to prevent outside influence and, presumably, Twitter polls. This started after the 1268–1271 papal election in Viterbo dragged on for nearly three years. The people of the city got so fed up, they locked the cardinals in and even tore off the roof to "encourage" a decision. It worked. Nothing says divine inspiration like the threat of pneumonia.

Now, one might think that such a sacred process would yield holy and virtuous leaders. But the Holy See has had its share of less-than-saintly occupants. Consider Pope Alexander VI, a Borgia whose papacy (1492–1503) was basically a Renaissance soap opera. He bribed his way into office, hosted lavish orgies in the Vatican, and allegedly poisoned political enemies. Family values, am I right?

Then there was Pope John XII (955–964), who was elected at the tender age of 18 and treated the papacy like a frat house. He was accused of gambling, incest, and turning the Lateran Palace into a brothel. He eventually died mid-tryst, which, honestly, was probably the most dignified moment of his papacy.

And let’s not forget the great papal gender reveal party — or rather, the legend of Pope Joan. Supposedly, in the 9th century, a woman disguised herself as a man and ascended to the papacy. Her cover was blown when she inconveniently gave birth during a procession. Historians debate her existence, but the Church took it seriously enough to allegedly institute a tradition involving a special chair with a hole in the seat, through which a cardinal would verify the, uh, masculinity of the newly elected pope. Because nothing says “God’s will” like a medieval genital check.

Of course, modern conclaves are a bit more decorous — less orgy, more organ music. Cardinals take an oath of secrecy, vote in elaborate ceremonies, and signal the result with smoke from the Sistine Chapel chimney. Black smoke means “no pope yet,” white smoke means “we have a pope,” and brown smoke probably means someone forgot how chimneys work.

Despite the theatrics, conclaves remain a fascinating mix of divine faith and very human politics. Alliances are forged, deals are whispered, and sometimes the Holy Spirit looks suspiciously like Vatican bureaucracy. But hey — if you can’t trust a secretive electoral college of unelected elderly bachelors, who can you trust?

So the next time you see that white smoke rise, remember: behind it is a history of scandal, power plays, bad behavior, and maybe even a surprise pregnancy. Holy indeed.