The chimney is the star of the show. Seriously. Thousands of people stand in a rainy St. Peter’s Square, necks craned, staring at a small copper pipe sticking out of the roof of the Sistine Chapel. They aren't looking for architectural details; they’re looking for a color. White smoke means we have a leader. Black smoke means they’re still arguing.
But how do you pick a pope when the doors are literally locked from the inside?
It’s called a Conclave. The word comes from the Latin cum clave, which basically means "with a key." It is one of the oldest, weirdest, and most secretive processes on the planet. While the rest of the 21st century runs on leaked DMs and 24-hour news cycles, the Catholic Church goes into a total blackout. No phones. No Twitter. No "anonymous sources" whispering to the press. Just a bunch of guys in red hats trying to decide who should lead 1.3 billion people.
It’s not a standard election. You don't "run" for Pope. In fact, if you start campaigning or acting like you want the job, you’ve probably already lost it. There’s an old Roman saying: "He who enters the Conclave a pope, leaves it a cardinal." Basically, if everyone thinks you're the frontrunner, you're toast.
The setup: Locking the doors
When a Pope dies or resigns—like Benedict XVI did back in 2013, which threw everyone for a loop—the gears of the Vatican start turning. The person in charge of the "interim" is the Camerlengo. He’s the Chamberlain. His first job is actually to confirm the Pope is dead. Historically, this involved tapping the Pope’s forehead with a silver hammer and calling his name three times. They don't really do the hammer thing anymore, but the symbolism remains.
Once the "Sede Vacante" (the seat is vacant) begins, the College of Cardinals takes over. But they aren't all allowed to vote.
If you’re over 80, you’re out. You can attend the preliminary meetings, known as General Congregations, but you don't get a ballot. Only the Cardinal Electors—those under 80—get to enter the Sistine Chapel. Right now, there are usually around 120 of them. This limit was actually set by Pope Paul VI and later tweaked by John Paul II.
The pre-conclave meetings are where the real work happens. It’s kinda like a job interview without the candidate in the room. Cardinals talk about the state of the Church. They discuss problems in South America, the rise of secularism in Europe, or the need for a better administrator in the Roman Curia. They’re sizing each other up. They’re looking for the "Papabile"—those who are "pope-able."
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Inside the Sistine Chapel
The atmosphere is heavy. Michelangelo’s Last Judgment is staring down at them. Before the voting starts, every single cardinal takes an oath of secrecy. They swear on the Gospels.
Then comes the Extra omnes.
The Master of Liturgical Ceremonies yells this out, and everyone who isn't a voting cardinal has to leave. The doors are locked. The Swiss Guard stands watch. The Vatican actually sweeps the room for bugs and microphones. They install jamming devices under the floorboards to make sure no one is texting or checking their email. It’s a total digital vacuum.
The Ballot
Each cardinal gets a rectangular piece of paper. It says Eligo in Summum Pontificem at the top: "I elect as Supreme Pontiff."
You have to disguise your handwriting. Honestly. The rules suggest writing in block letters or at least differently than you usually do so no one can tell who wrote which ballot. It’s about as "secret ballot" as it gets. One by one, they walk up to the altar, hold their ballot in the air, and swear they are voting for the person they believe "before God" should be elected.
They drop the ballot into a chalice.
The Math
To win, you need a two-thirds majority. This is non-negotiable. In the past, they sometimes allowed for "election by acclamation" (everyone just shouting a name) or "compromise" (letting a small committee decide), but John Paul II scrapped those. Now, it’s ballots or nothing.
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If no one gets two-thirds, the ballots are burned.
This is where the smoke comes in. To make the smoke black, they add a chemical compound (traditionally it was wet straw, but that was too unreliable). When someone finally hits that magic number, they add a different chemical to make it white.
What happens the moment someone wins?
Imagine you’re sitting there, minding your own business, and suddenly 80 of your colleagues have written your name down. The Cardinal Dean walks up to you and asks: "Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?"
If you say yes, you are the Pope. Right then. No inauguration ceremony needed for the power to kick in.
Then they ask the second question: "By what name shall you be called?"
This is a huge moment. The name sets the tone for the entire papacy. If you pick "Pius," you’re leaning into tradition and law. If you pick "Francis"—as Jorge Bergoglio did in 2013—you’re signaling a focus on the poor and simplicity. No Pope has ever picked "Peter II." It’s seen as a bit too bold, considering, you know, the first Peter was the Apostle.
The Room of Tears
Before the new Pope goes out to the balcony, he is led to a small side room called the Camera Lacrimatoria or the Room of Tears. It’s called that because almost every new Pope breaks down and cries there. The sheer weight of the job—the responsibility of leading a billion souls—hits them all at once.
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They have three white cassocks ready: small, medium, and large. They try to guess the size of the next Pope, but it's never perfect. When Pope John XXIII was elected, he was a bit... stouter than expected. They had to rip the back of his robe and pin it just so he could go outside.
Why the process matters today
It seems archaic. Why not just use a secure app? Or a private room at a Hilton?
The ritual is the point. By stripping away the modern world, the Church argues it allows for the "Holy Spirit" to do the heavy lifting. Whether you believe that or not, the psychological effect is real. The cardinals are isolated. They can’t check the polls. They can’t see what the New York Times is saying about them. They have to look at the person sitting across from them.
How do you pick a pope in a way that feels legitimate? You do it through a process that has survived the fall of empires, the Middle Ages, and the Industrial Revolution.
Key weird facts about the process:
- Technically, any baptized Catholic male can be Pope. You don't have to be a Cardinal. You don't even have to be a priest. If they elected a random guy from a parish in Ohio, they’d have to ordain him as a priest, then a bishop, then hand him the keys. It hasn't happened in centuries, but the rule is there.
- The longest Conclave took nearly three years. In the 13th century, the cardinals couldn't decide. The locals in the town of Viterbo got so annoyed they tore the roof off the building and put the cardinals on bread and water to speed things up. It worked.
- Food is actually decent now. In the old days, cardinals slept on cots in the Sistine Chapel itself. Now, they stay in the Domus Sanctae Marthae, a guest house inside Vatican City. They get actual meals, though the quality is sometimes debated.
What you should watch for next time
When the next Conclave happens—and eventually, it will—don't just look at the smoke. Look at the timing.
If a Pope is elected in two or three days, it means the Church is unified. It means there was a clear "heir apparent." If it goes on for five, six, or seven days? There’s a deadlock. There’s a fight happening between the different factions—progressives vs. conservatives, or "Global South" vs. the European establishment.
Moving Forward: How to Track the Next Election
To understand the current "shortlist," you have to look at who the current Pope is naming as Cardinals. Since the Pope is the one who chooses the voters, he effectively shapes the future.
- Watch the "Consistories": These are the ceremonies where new Cardinals are created. Look at where they are from. Is the Pope picking more leaders from Africa and Asia? If so, the next Pope is much less likely to be European.
- Follow the "Papabile" lists: Experts like John Allen Jr. or the team at The Pillar track which Cardinals are gaining influence. They look at who is giving the big speeches at the Vatican.
- Monitor the General Congregations: When the Conclave actually starts, the few days of speeches before the doors lock are where the "job description" for the next Pope is written.
The process is designed to be slow. It’s designed to be frustrating. But in a world that moves at the speed of a 15-second TikTok, there is something fascinating about a group of men locking themselves in a room until they can all agree on one name. It is the ultimate exercise in forced consensus.
Keep an eye on the College of Cardinals' demographics. Currently, the shift is moving heavily toward the Southern Hemisphere. This suggests that the next time someone asks "how do you pick a pope," the answer might involve a candidate from a country that hasn't seen the papacy in a thousand years—or ever.