The world stops when a pope dies. Or, as we saw with Benedict XVI, when one simply decides he's had enough and retires to a monastery in the Vatican gardens. Suddenly, the gears of the world's oldest elective monarchy start grinding. It's a weird, high-stakes blend of ancient mysticism and cold-blooded political maneuvering. If you’ve ever wondered how are popes chosen, honestly, it’s less like a corporate hiring committee and more like a spiritual lockdown that would make a modern fire marshal sweat.
Rome fills up. The media sets up scaffolding that costs more than some small-town budgets. Everyone is looking at a single chimney.
But the real action happens behind thick, locked doors. No phones. No Twitter. No "leaking to a buddy at the AP." If a Cardinal pulls out a smartphone to check the scores or text a cousin, he's looking at immediate excommunication. They take this very seriously.
The Interregnum: Who Runs the Shop?
When the See of Peter becomes "vacant"—or Sede Vacante—the Church doesn't just stop. But it doesn't really move forward either. The Camerlengo, or Chamberlain, takes over. For a long time, the Camerlengo had to literally tap the dead Pope’s forehead with a silver hammer and call his baptismal name three times to make sure he wasn't just in a deep sleep. We don't really do the hammer thing anymore, but the symbolism remains. They destroy the Ring of the Fisherman. They smash the lead seals used for papal bulls.
It’s about continuity and its abrupt end.
The Cardinals who are already in Rome, and those flying in from places like Manila, Nairobi, and Chicago, start meeting in what are called General Congregations. This is where the "campaigning" happens, though nobody would ever call it that. It’s more like a series of intense coffee breaks and dinners where they discuss the "state of the Church." They’re looking for a vibe. Does the next guy need to be a diplomat? A hardline theologian? A charismatic world traveler?
How Are Popes Chosen Inside the Sistine Chapel
Once the Conclave actually starts, the Cardinals move into the Domus Sanctae Marthae. It's a guesthouse inside the Vatican. From there, they walk or get bussed over to the Sistine Chapel. You've seen the ceiling; now imagine 115-120 elderly men sitting under Michelangelo’s "Last Judgment," realizing they have to pick the next leader for 1.3 billion people.
The doors are locked. Cum clave. Literally, "with a key."
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The process is grueling. They vote four times a day—twice in the morning, twice in the afternoon. The ballot is a rectangular piece of paper. At the top, it says Eligo in Summum Pontificem (I elect as Supreme Pontiff).
They don't just check a box.
They are supposed to disguise their handwriting. They fold the ballot twice. Then, one by one, in order of precedence, they walk up to the altar. They hold the ballot up so everyone can see it, then place it on a plate (a paten) and drop it into a large chalice. It's theater, but it's theater with a point: no stuffing the ballot box.
The Math of God
You need a two-thirds majority. That’s the magic number. If they go three days without a winner, they take a break for prayer and "informal discussion." In the past, there were rules about switching to a simple majority if things took too long, but Pope Benedict XVI changed that back in 2007. He wanted to ensure the new Pope had broad support, not just 50% plus one.
So, they keep voting.
After each session (two votes), the ballots are burned. This is the part the tourists in St. Peter's Square care about. If no one is elected, they throw in some chemicals—historically it was wet straw, but now it's a specific chemical cartridge—to make the smoke black.
Fumata nera. No Pope.
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When someone finally hits that two-thirds mark, the smoke is white. Fumata bianca. The bells of St. Peter’s start ringing like crazy because, honestly, the smoke is often a confusing shade of grey and the bells are the only way to be sure.
The Acceptance and the New Name
Once the threshold is met, the youngest Cardinal Deacon rings a bell. The junior Master of Ceremonies enters. The Cardinal Dean (or the highest-ranking Cardinal) approaches the winner. He asks the big question in Latin: Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem? "Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?"
There’s usually a long silence. It’s a terrifying moment. If they say "Accepto," they are instantly the Pope. Not after a coronation. Not after a mass. Right then.
Then they ask: "By what name shall you be called?"
This is a bigger deal than it sounds. Names have baggage. If you pick Pius, you're signaling a certain traditionalism. If you pick Francis, like Jorge Bergoglio did in 2013, you're signaling a focus on the poor and simplicity. No one has picked Peter II. That’s considered a bit too bold, given the whole "first Pope" thing.
The new Pope is then whisked away to the "Room of Tears." It's a tiny room off the Sistine Chapel. There are three sets of white cassocks waiting: small, medium, and large. They try to guess the size of the winner beforehand. He goes in, cries (usually), puts on the white robes, and comes back out to receive the "obedience" of the Cardinals.
Why the Conclave System Still Exists
It feels archaic. It is archaic. But the reason how are popes chosen hasn't changed into a digital poll or a public election is because the Church is obsessed with being "in the world, but not of it." By locking the Cardinals away, they theoretically shut out the political pressures of world governments.
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Back in the day, kings and emperors used to interfere constantly. The Conclave was a way to tell the Kings of France and Spain to stay out of it.
Even today, it's about creating a space where the "Holy Spirit" can work. Whether you believe in that or not, the result is a process that is remarkably insulated from the 24-hour news cycle. No one is running TV ads. There are no stump speeches. It is a slow, deliberate, and deeply psychological process.
The Politics You Don't See
Don't be fooled; these guys are humans. There are factions. You’ve got the "Curialists" (the bureaucrats who live in Rome) and the "Pastoralists" (the Archbishops who actually run dioceses). You’ve got the reformers and the traditionalists.
They talk in the hallways of the Domus Sanctae Marthae. They talk during lunch.
One fascinating detail: if a Cardinal is "papabile"—meaning everyone thinks he’s a frontrunner—he usually tries to look as humble and uninterested as possible. There’s an old Roman saying: "He who enters the Conclave a Pope, leaves it a Cardinal." If you go in too confident, the other Cardinals will often team up to take you down a notch.
Surprising Rules and Traditions
- Age Limits: If you’re over 80 when the Pope dies, you can't vote. You can be elected Pope at 90, but you can't cast a ballot. This was a rule put in by Paul VI to keep the Conclave somewhat "young," relatively speaking.
- Secrecy Oaths: They take an oath to maintain absolute secrecy. This includes everything from the voting tallies to the lunch menu.
- The Stove: The stove used to burn the ballots is a heavy cast-iron beast from 1939. There’s a second, more modern electronic one used to create the colored smoke.
- Food: They used to be fed only bread and water if they took too long. In 1268, the people of Viterbo got so fed up with the Cardinals taking three years to pick a Pope that they tore the roof off the building to "let the Holy Spirit in" and started rationing their food. Now, they eat pretty well in the guesthouse, which some critics say is why modern Conclaves are so short.
How to Follow the Next Election
When the time comes, don't just watch the smoke. Look at the "Great Expectations" of the Church. Check the list of Cardinals from the Global South. The center of gravity in the Catholic Church has shifted toward Africa and Asia. The next time we ask how are popes chosen, the answer might be less about European diplomacy and more about the needs of the developing world.
Actionable Insights for the Curious
If you're following a papal transition, do these three things to stay ahead of the curve:
- Check the "Cardinal Creations": Look at who the previous Pope appointed. Popes tend to appoint Cardinals who share their worldview. If a Pope has appointed 70% of the current voting body, the next Pope is likely to continue that legacy.
- Ignore the "Frontrunners": The media loves a favorite. Usually, the favorite loses. Watch for the "bridge candidates"—the guys who are everyone’s second choice. They are often the ones who actually reach the two-thirds majority.
- Watch the "Veni Creator Spiritus": This is the chant they sing as they enter the Sistine Chapel. It's the last time you'll see them before the doors lock. Look at their faces; you can usually tell who's terrified and who's ready.
The process is a masterpiece of tradition and human psychology. It’s slow, it’s opaque, and it’s arguably the most successful branding exercise in human history. When that white smoke finally drifts over the rooftops of Rome, it isn't just a religious event; it's the conclusion of a tactical, spiritual marathon that has remained largely unchanged for centuries.