If you’ve spent any time in the weirder corners of the internet—or even just sat through a particularly intense history documentary—you’ve likely heard about the "Prophecy of the Popes." It’s one of those things that feels like it belongs in a Dan Brown novel. But for a lot of people, the last pope and the prophecies of Saint Malachy isn't just a fun piece of trivia; it’s a genuine source of anxiety or deep spiritual fascination.
Saint Malachy was an Irish archbishop from the 12th century. Legend has it that while he was in Rome in 1139, he had a vision. This wasn't just any vision. He supposedly saw a sequence of 112 short, cryptic Latin phrases that described every Pope from his time until the end of the world.
It sounds wild. It kind of is.
What makes it spooky is how some of these "mottos" actually fit the guys who ended up wearing the big hat. For example, Pope John Paul II was labeled "De Labore Solis," which translates to "of the solar eclipse." He was born on the day of a solar eclipse and buried on the day of a solar eclipse. Coincidence? Maybe. But it’s enough to make you pause.
The Problem with the "Last Pope" Narrative
The 112th and final entry on this list is a man referred to as "Petrus Romanus," or Peter the Roman. According to the text, this guy will rule during a time of great tribulation, and then Rome—the city of seven hills—will be destroyed.
The kicker? Many people believe Pope Francis is that guy.
But wait. His name isn’t Peter. He’s Argentinian. So how does that work?
This is where the prophecy gets slippery. Interpreters argue that because Francis chose his name after Saint Francis of Assisi—whose father’s name was Pietro (Peter)—the connection is there. It’s a bit of a reach, honestly. But in the world of prophecy, "a bit of a reach" is the standard operating procedure.
Most historians will tell you the document is a 16th-century forgery. It didn't actually surface until 1595, when a Benedictine monk named Arnold Wion published it. Critics, like the famous Jesuit scholar Claude-François Menestrier, pointed out that the prophecies for the Popes before 1590 were incredibly accurate, while the ones after that date became vague, poetic, and much harder to pin down.
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Basically, it looks like someone in the 1590s wrote it to influence a papal election and just "backdated" the first 70 or so entries to gain credibility.
Why We Can't Stop Talking About It
Humans hate uncertainty. We crave a roadmap for the future. Even if that roadmap involves the literal apocalypse, there’s a weird comfort in thinking someone saw it coming 800 years ago.
When Benedict XVI resigned in 2013, the internet went into a total meltdown over Malachy. Benedict was the 111th pope on the list, described as "Gloria Olivae" (the glory of the olive). People pointed to the fact that the Benedictines have a sub-branch called the Olivetans. It fit. Sorta.
Then came the realization: if Benedict was 111, then whoever came next had to be 112. The big one. The end.
But let’s be real for a second. The Catholic Church doesn't officially recognize these prophecies. They aren't part of "divine revelation." In fact, most Vatican scholars roll their eyes when the subject comes up. They see it as a distraction from actual theology.
Still, the last pope and the prophecies of Saint Malachy conversation persists because it taps into our collective cultural fears. We live in a world that feels increasingly unstable. Climate change, geopolitical shifts, the sense that "the old ways" are dying—all of this feeds the hunger for a prophetic explanation.
Examining the "Petrus Romanus" Text
The final entry is much longer than the others. Most are just two or three words. This one is a full paragraph of dark, ominous Latin.
"In the final persecution of the Holy Roman Church, there will sit Peter the Roman, who will pasture his sheep in many tribulations, and when these things are finished, the city of seven hills will be destroyed, and the dreadful judge will judge his people. The End."
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It’s heavy stuff.
But there is a technicality that often gets missed. Some scholars of the text argue that there might be a gap between the 111th pope and the 112th. The list doesn't explicitly say the 112th follows immediately after the 111th. It’s a loophole big enough to drive a popemobile through.
If you look at the actual history of the papacy, there have been plenty of times when things looked like "the end." During the Avignon Papacy, there were three guys all claiming to be Pope at the same time. During the Sack of Rome in 1527, the city was literally being destroyed. If you were living through those events, Malachy’s prophecies would have seemed very real and very terrifying.
Skepticism and the Forgery Theory
The most damning evidence against the prophecy is its silence for over 450 years. Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, who wrote a detailed biography of Saint Malachy, never mentioned it. Not once.
If Malachy had truly predicted the entire future of the papacy, you'd think his best friend and biographer would have mentioned it. Instead, the document appeared out of nowhere during a period of intense Vatican politics.
In the late 16th century, cardinal Girolamo Simoncelli was a candidate for the papacy. The motto associated with the pope of that time in the prophecy was "Ex antiquitate Urbis" (from the antiquity of the city). Simoncelli was from Orvieto, which in Latin is Urbevetum—old city.
It was a campaign flyer. It was basically a medieval "Vote for Girolamo" ad disguised as an ancient prophecy.
He didn't even win.
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The Enduring Mystery of the Last Pope
So, why does it keep trending?
Because the symbols are just vague enough to be evergreen. If a pope is born near a river, he’s "from the river." If he has a bird on his family crest, he’s "the winged one." It’s like a spiritual Rorschach test. You see what you want to see.
Pope Francis has joked about his own mortality and the length of his papacy before. Every time he breathes a word about retiring or mentions that his time might be short, the Malachy enthusiasts come out of the woodwork. They look for any connection to "Peter" or "Rome"—even though every Pope, by definition, is the Bishop of Rome and takes on the mantle of Peter.
Honestly, the last pope and the prophecies of Saint Malachy tells us more about ourselves than it does about the future of the Vatican. It shows our obsession with the "end times" and our desire to see patterns in the chaos of history.
Whether you believe it’s a divine warning or a 500-year-old prank, it’s a fascinating lens through which to view the papacy. It turns the boring administrative history of the Church into a high-stakes supernatural thriller.
Actionable Steps for Navigating Prophecy Myths
If you find yourself falling down the rabbit hole of papal prophecies, here are a few ways to keep your feet on the ground:
- Check the provenance. Always ask when a prophecy first appeared in writing. If there's a 400-year gap between the "vision" and the first published copy, be extremely skeptical.
- Look for the "Texas Sharpshooter" fallacy. This is when someone fires a gun at a barn door and then draws a bullseye around the bullet hole. People often do this with Malachy—they take a vague Latin phrase and hunt through a Pope’s life until they find one tiny detail that matches.
- Study the historical context. Understanding the 1590 papal conclave makes the "forgery" theory much more convincing. Context usually kills the mystery, but it replaces it with a better understanding of human nature.
- Distinguish between dogma and folklore. In the Catholic tradition, these prophecies have zero official weight. You can be a devout Catholic and think Malachy’s list is total nonsense.
- Focus on the present. Regardless of who the "last" anyone is, the current actions and policies of the Vatican have a real-world impact. That’s usually more important than a cryptic Latin phrase from the 1500s.
The fascination with the end of the world isn't going anywhere. Neither is the mystery of the papacy. But by separating the 16th-century political spin from the actual history, you can appreciate the legend of Saint Malachy for what it is: a brilliant, enduring piece of historical fiction that managed to trick the world for centuries.