When medieval popes were engulfed in scandal, how did the world react?

In medieval Europe, the pope was the ultimate authority; head of the Catholic Church, the successor of Saint Peter, and the supreme spiritual figure in a society where religion moulded every aspect of life. The Church influenced law, education, kingship and the rhythms of daily existence. From his seat in Rome, the pope claimed a divine authority that, in theory, superseded every earthly ruler.

It was, perhaps, inevitable then, that the immensity of papal power would occasionally raise awkward questions. What happened if a pope proved themselves incapable for the role? In theory, the answer was simple: nothing. There was no clear constitutional mechanism to remove a pope from office.

And yet, especially in the later Middle Ages popes were repeatedly challenged by those they ruled over. Not through any neat legal process, but through political pressure, factional rivalry and, at times, institutional upheaval.

Absolute authority

The medieval papacy rested on one foundational principle: there could only ever be one pope.

The pope’s role was supposed to guarantee the unity of Christendom, the community of Latin Christians across western Europe. If rival popes existed at the same time, that unity would fracture into splintered factions. The whole system depended on this idea of a single, God-sanctioned head of the Church.

It was for that reason that a pope “can’t resign” says medieval historian Hannah Skoda, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast series History Behind the Headlines.

So, this was a position designed only to be vacated by death. That made the papacy both formidable and precarious. A pope couldn’t formally be deposed, so any attempt to challenge him threatened the stability of the institution itself.

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The pope who resigned

That tension came into focus in the late 13th century with the election of Pope Celestine V.

Celestine was an unusual choice. He was an elderly hermit who had spent much of his life in ascetic withdrawal, devoted to prayer, poverty and spiritual discipline.

“He really was somebody who cared about the poor,” Skoda explains. But he was also “very ill-suited to becoming pope”, lacking both the appetite and the experience for the ruthless politics of the papal court because, by this point, the papacy was far more than a purely spiritual office. The pope was also a major political actor, deeply involved in diplomacy, taxation, legal disputes and power struggles with kings and princes.

Sitting as the divinely anointed head of the Church required administrative skill, political nous and a willingness to navigate conflict, as well as a penchant for holiness.

Celestine had little taste for any of this. Before long, he concluded that he couldn’t do the job at hand and abdicated after only a few months in office. But of course, as Skoda explains, “it’s not okay to resign as a pope.”

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If resignation was possible, what did that mean for the theological underpinnings of the role? Might coercion also be possible? Celestine’s decision opened a door that many contemporaries would have preferred to keep firmly shut.

Political attack

Celestine’s successor, Boniface VIII, quickly discovered just how volatile the crisis created by Celestine was.

One of Boniface’s most formidable adversaries was Philip IV of France, a king determined to consolidate royal power and resist papal interference. The clash between pope and king centred partly on taxation and jurisdiction, but it quickly became a broader struggle over who held ultimate authority in Christian society.

Celestine’s resignation gave Philip a useful weapon with which to whack the papacy. He could argue Boniface’s election was invalid, because his predecessor hadn’t died in office.

Celestine, in Skoda’s words, became “this sort of figure hanging around in the background” – a very visible reminder that the papal system wasn’t as stable or as theologically watertight as it claimed to be.

The conflict culminated dramatically in 1303, in the so-called Outrage of Anagni, when Boniface was seized by agents of the French crown. Though he was soon released, the incident was a humiliating episode.

Not long afterwards, Boniface died, and a new pope, more acceptable to the French monarchy, was elected. In 1309, the papal court moved from Rome to Avignon in southern France, beginning what historians know as the Avignon Papacy.

The reasons were partly practical. Rome was politically unstable, prone to violence and factional conflict. But the move also suited the French crown.

“The French king doesn’t want him in Rome,” Skoda explains. He wanted the pope “somewhere closer, where he can keep a better eye on things”.

Unsurprisingly, the move to Avignon damaged the image of papal independence. It gave the impression that the pope might now be an instrument of French interests, rather than an impartial ruler of all Christendom.

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The Great Schism

The most dramatic rupture came in the late 14th century.

In 1377, the papacy returned to Rome. Far from restoring stability, however, the move helped trigger an even deeper crisis. After the death of Pope Gregory XI, a new pontiff, Urban VI, was elected. Almost immediately, many cardinals claimed the election had been invalid and turned against him.

“They try to depose him and elect another pope,” Skoda explains.

Urban refused to resign. “So, he stays as pope – but they’ve also already elected another one.”

The Western Schism was the resulting crisis in which two rival popes, one based in Rome and one in Avignon, each claimed to be the true head of the Church.

“The whole point of a pope is that there should be one, uniting Christendom,” Skoda says.

Instead, Europe divided along political lines. Different kingdoms backed different claimants, according to existing alliances and rivalries. During the Hundred Years’ War, for instance, England and France supported different rival popes. The figure of the pope had been dragged into the quagmire of petty politics.

Councils and confusion

Attempts to solve the schism initially made matters worse.

In 1409, church leaders convened the Council of Pisa in the hope of ending the deadlock. Their solution was to depose both existing popes and elect a new one who could reunite the Church. The result was a farcical failure.

“They don’t manage to depose the two existing popes,” Skoda explains, “but they do elect a new one – so then they have three popes.”

What had begun as an effort to restore order only deepened the confusion. Christendom now faced not two competing pontiffs, but three.

Only the Council of Constance, meeting between 1414 and 1418, finally brought the crisis to an end. Through a mixture of negotiation, canny political manoeuvring and compromise, the rival claimants were removed, persuaded to resign, or otherwise sidelined.

In 1417, Martin V was elected as the single recognised pope.

The schism was over. But the means by which it ended revealed how fragile papal authority could become when the normal assumptions of the system broke down.

Hannah Skoda was speaking to Matt Elton on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.