How to NOT elect a pope.mp4

For the past seven and a half centuries, popes have been elected by the conclave, a closed meeting of the College of Cardinals. The conclave was introduced after an election dragged on for almost three years, and was only ended after the cardinal's food supply was cut off. This, remarkably, was far from the most dysfunctional papal election. Through the early Middle Ages, popes were chosen by the priests and deacons of Rome. There were often disputes about the most suitable candidate, which sometimes escalated to the point of rival factions electing dueling popes. This happened in the year 366, when an archdeacon named Damasus and the deacon Ursinus were simultaneously declared pope by their supporters. Crowds led by armed squads of catacomb diggers took to the streets. As Ursinus was being consecrated, a mob of Damasians broke down the doors of the church and sent the would-be pope scurrying for safety. When the Ursinians tried again, a pitched battle broke out in Santa Maria Maggiore that left more than a hundred dead. In the midst of the turmoil, the prefect of Rome was chased from the city. It was only after the emperor got involved and Ursinus was banished to the German frontier that order was restored. The riots had an exciting sequel a few years later, when allies of the exiled Ursinus accused Damasus of adultery in the imperial court. But the pope defended himself, was exonerated by the emperor, and vigorously excommunicated everyone involved. There were plenty of protracted, contested, or otherwise irregular elections during the Middle Ages, but not even the conclave of 1415 to 17, which had to depose three rival popes before choosing a new one, was quite as dysfunctional as the election that followed the death of Nicholas IV, who had himself only been chosen after half the College of Cardinals perished of fever. The recently invented conclave system had been suspended, removing all constraints on the cardinals' voting. This was unfortunate, since the ten cardinals who then made up the college were in no mood for compromise. When an initial fortnight of balloting proved fruitless, the cardinals adjourned. They reconvened in the middle of a plague, which promptly claimed one of them. Dispersing again, they reunited for a few months of desultory voting, parted once more, reconvened, thickered, and parted a fourth time. The king of Naples tried to intervene and was ignored. As the election entered its third year, the cardinals were on the point of disbanding yet again when they received a letter from a local hermit urging them to choose a pope quickly. In a flash of inspiration, they decided to make the They descended upon the hermit's cave, where they found the new leader of the Roman church wearing a hair shirt belted with chains. After a great deal of persuasion, the hermit became pope. To the surprise of no one besides the cardinals who had elected him, Celestine V, as the hermit named himself, was a disastrous pope. After a reign of only five months, he issued a decree proclaiming that popes could retire, immediately retired, and tried to return to his cave. Since Renaissance popes were implicated in the labyrinthine politics of their era, their elections produced enough intrigue to fill any TV drama. An especially egregious example was the conclave that followed the death of Paul III in 1549. The cardinals were divided between factions supporting the Holy Roman Emperor, the King of France, and the Farnese family. From the start, their deliberations were bedeviled by political interference. Every major power in Europe had agents in the conclave. Holes were bored through walls to facilitate the passing of notes, and a servant of the French king used a system of rooftop ladders and catwalks to consult secretly with cardinals. The imperial and Farnese factions tried to choose a pope before the French cardinals could arrive. Catching wind of this, the French king threatened to take his entire nation into schism if the conclave refused to wait. Once the French arrived, flush with bribe money, the party got started. For weeks, the conclave was hopelessly deadlocked. Roman bookies took bets on the outcome. For a while, the leader was the English cardinal Paul, who was given odds of one in four. Some speculated that the cardinals would suffocate on torch smoke from being stuck in the Sistine Chapel so long. They needn't have worried. The cardinals had made themselves very comfortable, expanding their cloth booths into suites and smuggling in rich foods for dinner parties. Two months into the conclave, a cardinal died, apparently from poison. After another cardinal, who happened to be a cousin of the French queen, failed to capture the papacy, the French king authorized his contingent to vote for a neutral candidate. And, on the 61st scrutiny, ten weeks after the conclave began, Pope Julius III was elected. Julius III proved to be a suboptimal pontiff. Though reasonably conscientious about his sacred duties, he was fond of all-night dinner parties at which he consumed appalling quantities of onions. He did not improve his image by elevating his debauched teenage monkey-keeper to the rank of cardinal. Over the centuries since Julius, politics have often complicated the papal elections. So have wars. Most memorably, when Pius VII, elected after Napoleon had kidnapped his predecessor, Pius VI, was crowned with a papier-mâché tiara. Pius VII, incidentally, was then himself kidnapped by Napoleon. But the conclaves have continued, as the papacy and the Church have continued, outlasting all the best and worst of the faithful. 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