Finding Medieval Meaning in the Death of a Modern Pope

Pope Francis died “peacefully,” according to his doctors. Quite a few medieval popes did not.

Finding myself rather distracted by the death of Pope Francis, I decided to change my plans for today’s post. As you may have noticed, I generally don’t spend much time commenting on current events. There are plenty of other writers already doing that, and most of what fills the news cycle these days doesn’t interest me. Also, as I was explaining to my students just last week before a discussion of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, modernity’s highly mathematical approach to human history creates an unnecessary barrier between that which is recent and that which is old, or even ancient. Indeed, the whole concept of “current events” is now somewhat foreign to my way of thinking, for as my perception of time and history becomes more medieval, I am less inclined to categorize and valorize things according to strict chronology. The assassination of Julius Caesar, for example, is a current event in my world. It is current because its effects are still powerfully felt, its lessons are still edifying, and its drama and pathos are timeless. I know that it happened a very long time ago, but I also know that in my memory, the distant past and the recent past coexist simultaneously. And in any case, Caesar’s assassination teaches me more about the deep poetry of life than the things that typically happen in Washington DC or Brussels.

However, I can’t be so dismissive with the death of a pope. Though it is, I acknowledge, a current event (according to the modern meaning), few current events these days are also so thoroughly medieval. For me, it is a truly historic occurrence—not because I expect the next pope to seriously alter the course of his predecessor, but because the death of a reigning pontiff surrounds us in a special way with the undying magnificence, outrageous misconduct, and disconcerting violence of papal history in the Middle Ages.