Pope Fiction
By Patrick Madrid
It can be hard, sometimes, to tell fiction
from reality. Remember the one about the woman who wanted to dry off
her pet and used a microwave (with disastrous results)? Or how about
the widely believed tale about Procter & Gamble having a satanic
"666" cleverly disguised as stars in its corporate logo—remember
that one? We've all seen a jillion urban legends come and go, some
with astonishing staying power. The thing they have in common is they're
fake. Our culture is hip-deep in myths—some benign, some malicious,
but all accepted as gospel truth by the average Joe. This is also
true of the many anti-Catholic myths about the papacy. A lot of people
believe there once was a Pope Joan or that the pope is the Beast of
Revelation 13. In this article, five of the most common "pope
fictions" are debunked for your reading pleasure.
As my friend Rita pulled to the side of the road to check her map, she
noticed the car that had been behind her for the last mile or so also
stopped, and pulled alongside.
Thinking the middle-aged woman in the other car had stopped to offer
assistance, Rita rolled down her window and smiled. "Could you help
me with some directions, please?" she asked through the rolled up
window of the other car. The woman couldn't hear her through the glass,
but she understood the question. Staring hard at Rita, she shook her
head and scowled.
Perplexed, Rita asked, "Could you roll down your window,
please?" pantomiming the motion of turning the window handle. The
woman shook her head again and her scowl deepened.
Then, leaning across the front seat of her car, her face inches from the
window, she mouthed slowly and clearly: "I HATE THE POPE."
Then she made an obscene gesture with her finger, pulled back onto the
road, and drove off.
Rita was dazed and wondered what could have provoked such a bizarre
expression of hostility. Then it dawned on her: The bumper sticker on
her minivan read, "Follow me, I'm behind the pope!" and
included a picture of a smiling Pope John Paul II. Apparently it so
offended the woman that she had to go out of her way to let Rita know.
Was she an anti-Catholic Evangelical Protestant? A Jehovah's Witness on
her way home from a meeting at the Kingdom Hall? A secularist of no
particular religion? Perhaps she was a "pro-choice Catholic"
who hates the pope because his efforts to defend the sanctity of unborn
life clash with her agenda to "Keep Abortion Legal." Maybe
she's mad that he won't compromise Catholic teaching that the sacrament
of holy orders is reserved to men. Who knows?
There is one thing we do know. A lot of people dislike, even hate, Pope
John Paul II, not because of his personality or ethnicity or whatever,
but because they don't like the Catholic Church. The pope is the
flesh-and-blood reminder of that Church and its teachings — he
personifies Catholicism — and for some this is particularly offensive.
Some make their dislike for the papacy felt in articles, tracts and
videos, calculated not merely to refute Catholic teaching, but to
undermine the trust Catholics have in the Church and the pope.
Millions believe myths and legends and historical inaccuracies about the
papacy, almost all of which were concocted centuries ago by critics of
the Church. Many labor under the twin burden of ignorance and an
unwillingness to be shown the truth, heirs of a generations-old
anti-Catholicism handed down from family, friends, social circles and
nearly 300 years of subtle, American, Protestant propaganda.
But there's hope. John Henry Newman, a Protestant scholar who converted
to Catholicism in 1845 and became a leading apologist and later a
cardinal, said in his book Apologia Pro Vita Sua, "When I was young
. . . I thought the pope to be the anti-Christ. At Christmas 1824 I
preached a sermon to that effect." If Newman could be brought to
see the truth, so can that angry woman driver who HATES THE POPE.
As apostles for Christ, we have work to do. The myths and misconceptions
that form the vast body of "Pope Fiction" are widespread and
pernicious — but like other ills, they can be counteracted and cured
with a healthy dose of the facts. Let's examine five of the more common
ones.
Fiction 1
Peter was not the first "pope." He didn't have any special
primacy or jurisdiction over the other apostles or other early
Christians. In fact, he denies this by referring to himself as merely a
"fellow presbyter" (1 Peter 5:1)-an office lower than an
overseer (bishop). If anything, Paul had a greater authority than Peter.
Although St. Peter never called himself "pope" in Scripture,
he did indeed have a special apostolic primacy and jurisdiction. The
Scriptural evidence for this is substantial and explicit.
Of the Twelve Apostles, St. Peter is by far the one mentioned most often
in Scripture. He appears 195 times. The next most often mentioned
Apostle was St. John, who comes in at a whopping 29 times. St. James the
Greater is mentioned 19 times, St. Philip 15, and the numbers dwindle
rapidly for the others. Does this in itself prove St. Peter's primacy?
No, but it does shed considerable light on his importance. What does
that light reveal?
Among other things, we see that when the Twelve Apostles are listed by
name (Matt. 10:2-5; Mark 3:16-19; Luke 6:14-17; and Acts 1:13), St.
Peter's name is always first — and Judas Iscariot is always listed
dead last. Far more commonly, though, the New Testament refers to simply
"Peter and the Twelve," as if to say that the tempestuous
fisherman signified in himself the unity of the whole apostolic college.
There are many other biblical signs of St. Peter's preeminence among the
Apostles. He is the only one who receives a name change from Christ. He
was Simon, but Christ calls him "Rock" (Matt. 16:18). Name
changes given by God that we read about in Scripture have huge
significance and imply an elevation in importance and a special mission
given to that person by God (eg. Abram to Abraham, Jacob to Israel). He
is also singled out by Christ to receive the keys of the kingdom of
heaven and is promised, "Whatever you (singular) bind on earth will
be bound in heaven, and whatever you (singular) loose on earth will be
loosed in heaven" (Matt. 16:19).
St. Peter is the lone Apostle Christ calls out of the boat to walk on
water (Matt. 1:28-29). At the tomb of Christ, St. John waits to allow
St. Peter to enter ahead of him (John 20:6). It is to him among the
Apostles that God first reveals the Resurrection (Mark 16:7). The risen
Christ appears to him first, before the other Apostles (Luke 24:34).
Christ preaches the gospel to the crowds from St. Peter's fishing boat
(Luke 5:3). St. Peter is told by Christ, "Simon, Simon, behold
Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed that
your (singular) faith may not fail. And once you (singular) have turned
back, you (singular) must strengthen your brethren" (Luke
22:31-32).
Christ makes St. Peter the shepherd of His Church (John 21:15-17). In
Acts 1:13-26, St. Peter leads the other Apostles in choosing Matthias as
successor to Judas, and he leads the Apostles in preaching on the day of
Pentecost (Acts 2:14). He performs the first Pentecost miracle (Acts 3).
He speaks in the name of all the Apostles and for the whole Church when
the Twelve are brought before the Sanhedrin for a trial (Acts 4). It is
to St. Peter alone that God sends the revelation that gentiles are to be
allowed into the Church (Acts 10), and he is the Apostle who first
welcomes them into the Church (Acts 11). St. Peter's dogmatic
pronouncement is accepted, and causes all disputes to cease at the
Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15). After his conversion and healing from
blindness, St. Paul visits St. Peter to have his teachings confirmed by
him (Gal.1:18).
Having said that, what should we make of St. Peter's reference to
himself in 1 Peter 5:1 as a "fellow presbyter"? Does this
signal that he was unaware of his special role as chief of the Apostles?
The answer is found in the same passage. "Clothe yourselves in
humility in your dealings with one another," he says, "for God
opposes the proud but bestows favor on the humble. So humble yourselves
under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time" (1
Peter 5:5). Since he was cautioning his Christian audience to be humble,
it makes perfect sense that he would take his own advice and, setting an
example for them, speak of himself in humble terms. And in doing so, he
was following Christ's command, "Whoever wishes to be great among
you shall be your servant, whoever wishes to be first among you shall be
your slave" (Matt. 20:26-27). But this humility shouldn't blind us
to the substantial body of biblical evidence showing that he did receive
a special apostolic preeminence and authority from Christ — evidence
that critics of the papacy often ignore or strain to explain away.
St. Paul, like St. Peter, was also humble when referring to himself. He
was by far the most prominent and prolific New Testament writer,
responsible for about half of the New Testament, but he said, "I am
the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle, because I
persecuted the Church of God" (1 Cor. 15:10), and, "To me the
very least of all the holy ones, this grace was given" (Eph. 3:8).
On numerous occasions he called himself a mere deacon, the very lowest
level of ordained ministry in the Church (cf. 1 Cor. 3:5, 4:1; 2 Cor.
3:6, 6:4, 11:23; Eph. 3:7; Col. 1:23, 25). But clearly, St. Paul had an
authority far greater than that of a deacon.
As with St. Peter, these examples of St. Paul's humility are balanced by
statements of his authority: "Although I have the full right to
order you to do what is proper, I rather urge you out of love"
(Phil. 8-9), and, "[A]lthough we were able to impose our weight as
apostles of Christ. Rather, we were gentle among you, as a nursing
mother cares for her children" (1 Thess. 2:7).
St. Peter's calling himself a "fellow presbyter" doesn't
disprove his primacy any more than St. Paul's habit of calling himself a
"deacon" proves he had no authority greater than a deacon's.
Fiction 2
The bishop of Rome can't be the "successor to Peter," since
Peter was never in Rome. The Bible nowhere says he went there, and Paul,
who did go there, never mentions Peter being in Rome. If Peter were the
"pope," he certainly would have mentioned it.
Trying to prove St. Peter did not go to Rome and die there is a lot like
trying to prove that St. Matthew didn't write the Gospel of Matthew.
True, the Bible doesn't explicitly say he went to Rome, but the
surrounding historical evidence is more than sufficient to prove that he
did.
But first, we should ask, "If St. Peter didn't go to Rome, where
did he go? Where did he die?" We'd expect to find plenty of
evidence in the writings of the early Church telling us where this
prominent Apostle carried out his final years of ministry, if it were
some place other than Rome. But the historical record contains no hint
that he ended his days anywhere but Rome. No other city except Rome ever
claimed to possess the site of his martyrdom or his tomb (and early
Christians were extraordinarily diligent about making and proving such
claims). No other city — not even Antioch, where he resided for a time
during his apostolate — claimed he ended his days among them. No
Church Father or Council or any other early Church record indicates that
he finished his days anywhere but in Rome.
That's the lack of evidence side of the coin. The flip side is the
mountain of evidence proving he did go to Rome. Everyone everywhere in
the early Church agreed that St. Peter went to Rome, ministered there
for more than two decades, and suffered martyrdom by inverted
crucifixion in A.D. 65, under the persecution of Emperor Nero. Given the
grave danger to the early Church from a hostile Roman government, it
makes perfect sense that St. Paul would not mention St. Peter's
whereabouts in his letters. He didn't want to draw unfriendly attention.
It's also quite possible that St. Peter had not yet arrived in Rome when
St. Paul was writing. We even see St. Peter himself making what seems to
be a cryptic reference to his presence in Rome when he says "The
chosen one at Babylon sends you greetings, as does Mark, my son" (1
Peter 5:13). "Babylon" was a commonly used code word for Rome
among Christians, because its pagan decadence and opposition to Christ
was reminiscent of the idolatrous wickedness associated with ancient
Babylon.
But once St. Peter had been martyred, the testimonies of his sojourn in
Rome with St. Paul poured forth in a flood from the early Christian
writers. Perhaps the most detailed of these early accounts came from St.
Irenaeus of Lyons (d. 200) in his apologetics work, Against Heresies. He
gave a detailed account of succession of the bishops of Rome, from St.
Peter down to his own day. He referred to Rome as the city "where
Peter and Paul proclaimed the gospel and founded the Church." Other
notable early examples were St. Ignatius of Antioch (d. 107), who
referred to the Church at Rome as "the Church of Peter and
Paul" (Letter to the Romans); St. Cyprian (d. 251), who described
Rome as "The place of Peter" (Epistle 52); and St. Jerome (d.
420), who called Rome "the See of Peter" (Epistle 15, to Pope
Damasus). Around A.D. 166, Bishop Dionysius of Corinth wrote to Pope
Soter, "You have also, by your very admonition, brought together
the planting that was made by Peter and Paul at Rome . . ." (quoted
in Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, 2:25).
Besides the vast amount of historical evidence showing that St. Peter
went to Rome, modern archaeology has cinched the case even tighter by a
definitive scientific demonstration that his bones (studies showed that
they are of a powerfully built elderly man who died of crucifixion) are
interred directly beneath the high altar in St. Peter's Basilica in
Rome, several levels down, where the original first century Vatican hill
sloped away toward the Tiber River. This was just outside the walls of
what was once Nero's Circus — precisely where all the early Christian
and even non-Christian records say St. Peter was crucified and buried.
Fiction 3
The papacy is a medieval Roman invention. The early Church knew
nothing of a "supreme pontiff." Other bishops didn't regard
the bishop of Rome as having special authority to operate the way
modern popes do.
Archbishop Fulton Sheen once said, "It is easy to find truth; it is
hard to face it, and harder still to follow it." This is certainly
true for some when it comes to facing the historical evidence for the
papacy in the early Church. The hard-core purveyors of pope fiction
refuse to believe that the papacy was established by Christ. But if the
equivalent of the modern papacy was merely a Roman invention of the
eighth or ninth century, how do we explain the fact that for the
preceding 700 years, the bishops of Rome were regarded (and regarded
themselves) as having a special, unique authority and responsibility for
the whole Church? Here are a few of the hundreds of examples that could
be given.
The earliest account we have of a bishop of Rome exercising authority in
another diocese comes from St. Clement's Epistle to the Corinthians. It
was written by Clement, bishop of Rome, around the year A.D. 80. In it
he responds to the Corinthians' plea for his intervention. The entire
letter is written in a fatherly, kind way, but it is also clear that
Clement was quite aware he had a special authority. Two key phrases
stand out as testimony of this: "But if any disobey the words
spoken by Him [Christ] through us, let them know that they will involve
themselves in sin and no small danger"; and "For you will give
us joy and gladness if, obedient to what we have written through the
Holy Spirit, you root out the lawless anger of your jealousy" (59,
63). Clearly, this early bishop of Rome wrote as one who expected his
words to be obeyed.
Pope Victor I (reigned 189-199) worked to settle a dispute among the
bishops of the East and West over when to celebrate Easter — known as
the Quartodeciman controversy. The other bishops recognized his unique
authority when they followed his directive to convene local and regional
synods to deliberate on the issue. Most of the bishops decided to adopt
his proposal that the whole Church celebrate Easter on the first Sunday
after Passover. Those who didn't, he threatened with excommunication.
The fact that no bishop in the world — not a single one — disputed
his authority as bishop of Rome to carry out such an excommunication is
a powerful piece of evidence that the early Church recognized the unique
authority of the bishop of Rome.
Shortly before his death in A.D. 200, St. Irenaeus of Lyons wrote to
Pope Victor asking him to relent and allow the Eastern bishops to
maintain their celebration of Easter according to the Hebrew lunar
calendar, evidence that he recognized the pope's authority to threaten
excommunication. Pope Victor did not in fact relent, but it's important
to note that St. Irenaeus, like most of the bishops, submitted to the
pope's ruling. After all, it was Irenaeus who wrote of the Church at
Rome: "For with this church, because of its superior origin, all
the churches must agree; that is, all the faithful in the whole world,
for in her the apostolic tradition has always been preserved for the
benefit of the faithful everywhere" (Against Heresies 3:3).
Around the year 220, Pope Callistus wrote, "Callistus, archbishop
of the Church Catholic in the city of Rome, to Benedictus, our brother
and bishop, greetings in the Lord. By the love of the brotherhood we are
bound, and by our apostolic rule we are constrained, to give answer to
the inquiries of the brethren, according to what the Lord has given us,
and to furnish them with the authority of the seal of the apostles"
(First Epistle 1). Clearly he was well aware of his special role and
authority in settling problems in the Church, even in other dioceses.
Later, the same pope wrote a letter to all the bishops of Gaul, saying,
"Callistus to our most dearly beloved brethren, all the bishops
settled throughout Gaul . . . We beg you not to permit anything to be
done in those parts contrary to the apostolic statutes; but, supported
by our authority, you should stop what is injurious, and prohibit what
is unlawful . . . Observe this law, which has been laid down by the
apostles and fathers, and our predecessors, and has been ratified by us
. . . We have replied to your interrogations shortly, because your
letter found us burdened overmuch, and preoccupied with other
judgments" (Second Epistle, To All the Bishops of Gaul 2, 6).
In the year 382, Pope Damasus wrote about his authority as bishop of
Rome, anchoring it to the fact that he was the successor of St. Peter.
He said the Church at Rome "has been placed at the forefront, not
by the conciliar decision of other churches, but has received the
primacy by the evangelistic voice of our Lord and Savior Who says, 'You
are Peter, and upon this rock I will build My Church, and the gates of
hell will not prevail against it; and I will give to you the keys of the
kingdom of heaven, and whatever you shall have bound on earth will be
bound in heaven, and whatever you shall have loosed on earth shall be
loosed in heaven' . . . The first See, therefore, is that of Peter the
Apostle, that of the Roman Church, which has neither stain nor
blemish" (Decree of Pope Damasus 2-3).
In A.D. 404, St. John Chrysostom wrote to Pope Innocent, "I beseech
your Charity to rouse yourself and have compassion, and do everything so
as to put a stop to the mischief at this point" (First Epistle to
Pope Innocent I). Note that Chrysostom, the archbishop of
Constantinople, a powerful diocese, recognized the need to appeal to the
bishop of Rome to resolve a controversy.
Many other examples of the primacy of the bishop of Rome in the early
Church could be added. Even from the earliest years, the bishop of Rome
had — and everyone recognized that he had — a special authority in
the Church. Those who say the papacy is a "medieval Roman
invention," are either ignorant of history or dishonest.
Fiction 4
In the middle ages, there was a "Pope Joan," a woman who hid
her gender and rose through the ranks of the Church, became a cardinal
and was elected pope. No one knew she was a woman until, during a papal
procession through the streets of Rome, she went into labor and gave
birth to a child. She and the baby were killed on the spot by the mob,
enraged at her imposture.
A lot of things are said about the alleged "Pope Joan."
Depending on who is telling the story, she was a courageous feminist, a
clever opportunist, a brilliant scholar who couldn't make it as a woman
in a man's world. She is said to have been a wise ruler and an astute
theologian, though, oddly, no decree or theological teaching purporting
to have come from her has made its way down to our day.
In any case, the fact is, there was no Pope Joan. She exists only as
pure legend, but one that makes for a sexy story. And when it comes to
sexy stories, you know Hollywood will try its hand at making a
blockbuster out of this piece of pope fiction. New Line Cinema (that's
right, the same good folks who produced The Last Temptation of Christ)
has reportedly bought the movie rights to Pope Joan, the best-selling
1996 novel by Donna Woolfolk Cross. Her book is couched as an historical
"novel" — embellishing on a grand scale the rather sparse
details that have clung to the legend of a brilliant, plain girl who
rises to the highest levels in Church service, culminating in her being
elected pope by an unsuspecting college of cardinals. The way the book
is written and the way it's being promoted support my concern that it
will be seen by most of its historically ignorant readers, not as a
novel, a fiction, but as a real biography of the one woman who
"made it to the top." When the movie comes out, this problem
will certainly grow in proportions.
It's important to remember that even if there had been a female impostor
pope, this would just mean that an invalid election had taken place,
nothing more. Other invalidly elected claimants to the papal office have
come and gone over the centuries, and the fact that a woman made that
list would simply mean that a woman made that list. She would not have
been pope — no one invalidly elected would be. And nothing in the
Church's teachings about the papacy would be injured or disproved.
But in reality, the Pope Joan story is all sizzle and no steak. The
basic outline of the main legend (actually, there have been several
competing legends over the centuries) has it that in the ninth or tenth
century, a plain but extraordinarily brilliant young woman contrived to
enter the university disguised as a man. Her intellect outstripped her
male classmates and she shot to the top rank of students. Talk of her
prowess in law, science, rhetoric, philosophy and languages was
widespread.
In another legend, popularized by several 13th century works such as the
Chronicle of Martin Polonus, the Universal Chronicle of Metz and Wonders
of the City of Rome, she traveled first to Greece with her boyfriend
(why he wanted a girlfriend who disguised herself as a man is unknown),
made a name for herself in the university there, then traveled to Rome.
Here all the legends converge into the main one that has come down to
our day. Once in Rome, Joan managed to enter religious life (although no
legend is able to say which order she entered), was ordained a priest
and earned a high reputation as a notary in the papal court. Eventually,
she was noticed by the pope and made a cardinal. You can guess what
happens next. She is eventually elected pope, takes the name John, and
sets about skillfully ruling the Church. It's at this point that the
most dramatic scenes of the story unfold.
The legends vary as to how Joan's gender and identity were discovered.
One holds that she was granted a vision by God in which she was shown
two options for her fate, being discovered and disgraced by the world or
roasting in hell for her crime. She chose the former. Another version
says she got pregnant by one of her curial advisors and somehow was able
to maintain the charade until she gave birth to the baby. At that point
her secret was discovered and she was deposed as pope and sent to a
convent to do penance for the rest of her life. According to this
legend, the child she bore went on to became the bishop of Ostia, about
30 miles southwest of Rome, and when she died, he had her body buried
there. Of course, no evidence exists to support this.
The main detail these legends have in common is that Joan was discovered
because her hanky panky with a cardinal or secretary resulted in
pregnancy, and the childbirth exposed her fraud. The main legend is the
most gory on this point. In it, Pope Joan goes into labor while riding
in her sede gestiatoria — the portable throne in which popes were
carried — as her procession passed the Coliseum on its way from St.
Peter's Basilica to St. John Lateran Cathedral. The procession halted,
the baby was born, and the confused and angry onlookers killed Pope Joan
and her baby on the spot. Most accounts say she was killed by stoning,
another says she died in childbirth as the mob watching the spectacle
shouted and insulted her. Still another says she was dragged to death
behind a horse as punishment. Either way, the legends agree that the
Romans didn't appreciate the unpleasant discovery.
Several odd historical details gave weight to the legend, including the
fact that among the carved busts of the popes in the cathedral of Sienna
was one of an unnamed woman. No one knows who created it or how it was
put there, but when Pope Clement VIII (reigned 1592 — 1605) discovered
it, he ordered it reworked enough to represent Pope Zacharias, whose
image had not previously been included in the collection. This is not
surprising, though, given the widespread belief in Europe in the Pope
Joan legend during the 13th through 18th centuries. Versions abounded,
and many credulous folk, Catholics included, were sincerely convinced
that there had indeed been a female pope.
But the facts of history show otherwise. The primary proofs that this is
all just a fable are these: First, the earliest point that we can trace
the legend to is the mid-13th century, but the legend didn't really gain
wide currency until the late 14th century. No evidence of any kind
exists from the ninth century (when Pope Joan was alleged to have
reigned), nor do we see any in the 10th through 12th centuries. None of
the annals or acts of the popes that were written between the ninth and
13th centuries (and none after that, either) mention her.
Church historian J.P. Kirsch wrote that "Not one contemporaneous
historical source among the papal histories knows anything about her;
also, no mention is made of her until the middle of the 13th century.
Now it is incredible that the appearance of a 'popess,' if it was a
historical fact, would be noticed by none of the numerous historians
from the 10th to the 13th century. In the history of the popes, there is
no place where this legendary figure will fit in. Between Leo IV and
Benedict III, where Martinus Polonus places her, she cannot be inserted
. . ." (Article on Pope Joan, Catholic Encyclopedia, 1913).
So where did the legend come from? There are two likely possibilities.
The first is that the Roman population became disgusted with the corrupt
influence wielded over Pope Sergius (reigned 904-911) by the powerful
and wealthy Theodora Theophylact, and more specifically by her young
daughter Morozia, a cunning and exceptionally attractive woman. It
appears that Morozia was Sergius' mistress and bore him at least one son
(the future Pope John XI). The fabulously wealthy and prestigious
Theophylact family wielded immense power in Rome during the 10th
century, even, sadly, over several popes. This is a sorry episode in the
history of the Church, one which displayed a decadence and immorality
that even popes, at times, could fall prey to — a reminder to us all
that men, even the holiest of men, are not invulnerable to temptation
and personal weakness. Despite their sins, Christ's promise that the
Church would be protected from error was not, nor has it ever been,
broken.
From the details of Sergius III's pontificate, it seems clear that he
was a vain, violent and sensuous man. It's quite possible that the
disgusted faithful took to mocking him or one of his immediate
successors because he was perceived to have been under the influence of
the Theophylact women. Some historians trace the legend of a female pope
to Morozia, saying the people called her "Pope Joan" to mock
the weak popes she controlled, in the same way some American first
ladies have been called "president" to mock their perceived
weak husbands.
Another possible explanation for the Pope Joan legend lies in the
conduct of the much maligned Pope John VIII (reigned 872-882). He
appears to have had a very weak personality, even perhaps somewhat
effeminate. Cardinal Baronius, in his Church history Annals, suggests
that John VIII's reputation as effeminate gave rise to the legend.
Indeed, it would seem that over time, the common folk added ever more
lurid embellishments until the vulgar jokes about the hapless (and
certainly male) pope ballooned and metamorphosed into a female "popessa."
Fiction 5
The pope is the beast spoken of in Revelation 13. Verse 1 says that
he wears crowns and has "blasphemous names" written on his
head. Verse 18 says that the numerical value of his name adds up to 666.
The pope's official title in Latin is Vicarius Filii Dei (Vicar Son of
God). If you add that up using Roman numerals, you get 666. The pope's
tiara is emblazoned with this title, formed by diamonds and other
jewels.
I wasn't very good at math in school, but even I can follow this
argument and run the numbers well enough to show it's bogus. (Besides,
answering this question is apologetics at its most fun!) The charge that
the pope is the beast of Revelation 13, because his title adds up to
666, is especially popular with Seventh-Day Adventists, but it's also
widely repeated in some Protestant circles.
Vicarius Filii Dei does have the mathematical value of 666 in Latin.
Here's how it works. Like many ancient languages, such as Greek and
Hebrew, some Latin letters are also used for numbers: I = 1, V = 5, X =
10, L = 50, C = 100, D = 500 and M = 1000. The letter "u" is
rendered as V and the letter "w," which doesn't exist in the
Latin alphabet, would be rendered as VV. So this title would read in
Latin as VICARIVS FILII DEI.
When calculating the value of a name or word, letters that don't have a
numerical value are ignored. For example, drop out the no-value letters
in my name, PATRICK MADRID, and you come up with 2102 — 1 (i) + 100
(c) + 1000 (m) + 500 (d) + 1 (i) + 500 (d) = 2102. By the way, this is
one reason why, as far as I know, no one has yet accused me of being in
league with the anti-Christ. The numbers just don't add up.
But in the case of VICARIVS FILII DEI, they do add up to 666. Isolate
the numbers and this is what you get: 5 (v) + 1 (i) + 100 (c) + 1 (i) +
5 (V) + 1 (i) + 50 (L) + 1 (i) + 1 (i) + 500 (d) + 1 (i) = 666.
But there are problems with this. The first is that Vicarius Filii Dei,
or "Vicar of the Son of God," is not now, nor has it ever
been, a title of the bishop of Rome. The second problem is that
virtually no one, including many unsuspecting lay Catholics, knows that
this papal "title" is a fabrication. To an untrained ear, it
sounds enough like one of the pope's real titles, Vicarius Christi
(Vicar of Christ), to pass the test. Unfortunately for those who traffic
in this particular piece of pope fiction, the real title, Vicarius
Christi, adds up to only a measly 214, not the infernal 666. In fact,
none of the pope's official titles, such as Servus Servorum Dei (Servant
of the Servants of God), Pontifex Maximus (Supreme Pontiff), or
Successor Petri (Successor of Peter), will add up to 666. That's why you
never see any of them used by anti-Catholics.
If the person making this claim disputes these facts, ask him to furnish
even one example of a papal decree, ecclesiastical letter, conciliar
statement, or any other official Catholic document in which the pope
calls himself or is referred to as the "Vicar of the Son of
God." He won't be able to find one, because none exist. Vicarius
Filii Dei has never been a title of the pope.
Poof! That part was easy, but some people, especially Seventh-Day
Adventists, will ignore the evidence (or lack of it) and hold
tenaciously to the notion that "Vicar of the Son of God" is an
official papal title and therefore identifies the pope as the Beast of
Revelation. What else can be said in response?
Using the same math exercise we did above, point out that the name of
the woman who started the Seventh-Day Adventist church, Ellen Gould
White, also adds up to 666 in Latin. (L + L + V +D + V + V + I = 666).
Then ask if this proves that she is the Beast. I can assure you the
answer won't be "yes." If the answer is "no," ask
how this numbers game could possibly prove the pope or anyone else is
the Beast. If you're answered with silence, it's a good bet that you've
made some progress with the person.
The main fact to impress on someone who uses this argument is that a
papal title had to be invented, one that could produce the magic number,
in order to give this argument legs.
But we're not quite finished cutting it off at the knees. The charge
that the pope is the Beast because he wears a crown, and Revelation 13:1
says the Beast wears crowns and has "blasphemous names"
written on his head, must also be answered. This we can do more quickly.
Since about the year 708, many popes have worn at non-liturgical
ceremonial events a special papal crown called a tiara, but the
stylized beehive-shaped papal crown of three diadems that we have come
to know as a tiara emerged only in the early 14th century. Although it
was customary for tiaras to be encrusted with jewels and precious
ornaments, there is no evidence — no statue, bust, painting, drawing
or even written description of any of the many tiaras that were crafted
— that any papal tiara ever had the name or title of a pope emblazoned
on it.
This is significant, because there have been medieval and Renaissance
popes whose extravagant vanity prodded them to have lavishly ornamented,
jewel-encrusted tiaras made for themselves. And we possess paintings and
statues and other representations of them produced during their
lifetimes that show these tiaras (we even possess some of the actual
tiaras). If any popes in history would have been tempted to succumb to
the bad taste of spelling out "Vicarius Filii Dei" in diamonds
across the front of their tiaras, these men would have — but they
didn't. No pope did. One particular anti-Catholic tract I've seen shows
a plain metal tiara with Vicarius Filii Dei written in diamonds across
it. But it was a drawing — not a photograph of a museum piece or even
a photo of a painting of a tiara.
It had to be drawn, of course, because the "666 papal crown"—
as with all the other pope fictions—has only ever existed in the minds
of those who perpetuate this fantasy.
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