Today’s bygone gal is a little different from our regularly scheduled programming. For today’s badassery—Pope Joan—was never real. And that is exactly why we should talk about her.
The legend of Pope Joan, a female pontiff ruling under the title Pope John VIII from 855 to 858, began centuries ago. French Dominican Stephen of Bourbon penned De septem donis Spiritu Sancti (On the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit) in the 13th century, introducing the literary world to this (kind of) thoroughly feminist myth.
According to the first telling, Joan was elected sometime around 1100 AD. Her story of papal deception is quite simple: she was a brilliant scribe turned papal notary, who utilized her cleverness and political acumen to win the title of Pope. Unfortunately, she was pregnant at the time of her acceptance. She disguised her growing belly for quite some time, but was unable to hide childbirth. After her baby was born, she was dragged from the Vatican by an angry crowd and stoned to death. Somewhat ironically, up until that point, she had been well thought of in her position. John was perfectly valuable; Joan was not.
Once established by Stephen, the legend spread across Europe like wildfire, communicated largely by its network of friars. The tale of Pope Joan (oscillating between the names of Agnes and Gilberta) can be found in manuscripts throughout this time period: her most notable recognition is within Martin of Troppau’s Chronicon pontificum et imperatorum (Chronicle of the Popes and Emperors).
As her name grew in popularity, so, too, did the edits. It’s inevitable, after all, that a legend will shift when it changes hands. The first major morphing was in her cause of death: the 14th century proclaimed that Pope Joan had died in childbirth, and was buried shortly after. To this day (as I, a non-Catholic, understand it), papal processions will avoid a certain street, where the alleged disgrace of birthing occurred.
Then, an entire backstory evolved, far further than Stephen of Bourbon had initially written. Citizens told the tale of Johannes Angelicus (Joan), who was born in Mainz, Germany to English immigrant parents. When she came of age, she fell in love with a Benedictine monk, and dressed as a man to follow his path to Athens. In Greece, she showed an aptitude for book learning, acquiring an incredible education. Shortly after, she emigrated to Rome, becoming first Cardinal, then Pope. Her election occurred in 855 AD. Her reign was shortened upon her death in childbirth two years later.
During the 15th century, Joan’s existence was regarded as fact. In 1415, the Council of Constance wrote her into their debates on what I have dubbed the Triple Pope Problem. In the 16th and 17th centuries, Protestants used the tale of Pope Joan as an attack against the Catholic Church, furthering misogyny and schismatics simultaneously. It wasn’t until 1647 that a single person tried to disprove Joan’s life: that year, French Protestant David Blondel wrote Éclaircissement familier de la question: si une femme a été assise au siège papal de Rome (Familiar Enlightenment of the Question: Whether a Woman Has Been Seated on the Papal Throne in Rome). Within it, he argued the implausibility of a female being allowed on the Vatican’s throne.
And he was, unfortunately, right. The most popular iteration of Joan’s legend places her reign between those of St. Leo IV and Benedict III: the gap between the two was a matter of weeks, not years. There is no real-world record of Joan’s life, of John VIII, of stoning or a childbirth death or anything of that nature. To everyone’s dismay, this story is quite simply false.
So where did it come from? There are two working theories.
The first surrounds Senator Marozia and her mother, Theodora. The two women wielded massive political influence in 10th century Rome, eventually using their power to control the papacy. This began when Marozia was nary fifteen years old, and was pushed into becoming the mistress of Pope Sergius III. Her forced sexual prowess earned her the titles of senatrix and patricia; with these titles, she could enact legal action both behind the scenes and on the Roman stage. Theodora was the true power, Marozia the mouthpiece, and through them, this noble family put six men on the papal throne. If the papacy weren’t their blood relation, they were certainly Marozia and Theodora’s marionettes: anyone who didn’t comply was jailed or killed. Theodora was described by a contemporary as a “shameless whore...[who] exercised power on the Roman citizenry like a man.”
This story, of two women holding power that only the patriarchy claimed, trickled through the ages. Pope Joan emerged from that fear and disgust. Of course she would be stoned to death: look what happened when the weak female held office.
The second theory is far simpler. Disgruntled monks, ousted from mainstream Catholicism, were working to delegitimize the Church. And that’s it.
Though disproven, Pope Joan has remained in the folkloric conscious for centuries. Interpretations of her life have appeared in works by Ranulf Higden, Giovanni Boccaccio, and Petrarch. More than 500 historical texts have been compiled of her hypothetical life, a constant reminder of Catholicism’s misogyny. She was briefly included in a series of papal busts at the Siena Cathedral. And some historians still try to find evidence of her existence. Most recently, German-Australian archaeologist Michael E. Habicht has argued that coin discrepancies of the era prove that there was a female Pope. (To see more of this debate, read his book: Päpstin Johanna: Ein vertuschtes Pontifikat einer Frau oder eine fiktive Legende?)
So why has it lasted this long? As historian Bry Jensen asserts, “It has every element of a tantalizing tale, [from] turning a system of rigid oppression on its head [to] a brilliant woman who equaled or bested her male counterparts.” It’s certainly something I want to believe. Even if not, we still have a scintillating study: of misogyny, of fear, of feminist legend, of allyship and betrayal, of the survival of womankind, whatever that may mean.
Sources/For More Info: Encyclopedia Britannica, “Why the Legend of Medieval Pope Joan Persists” by Meilan Solly, “Who Was Pope Joan?” by Evan Andrews, “Marozia” by Tommaso di Carpegna Falconieri