Written by Peter Stanford. Henry Holt, 207 pages, $25.
There are few institutions in the world so dominated by men as the Vatican. This is a source of much unhappiness for many women in the world, and there is no sign of change any time soon. After all, church fathers say, Jesus chose men to be his disciples. The church was built upon Peter's shoulders, and all his successors can claim an apostolic and exclusively male succession from Jesus on down.
But what if one of the men who sat on Peter's throne was actually a woman?
To many, such a possibility would seem preposterous. But in his riveting new book, "The Legend of Pope Joan," Peter Stanford provides a compelling account of one of the least-known stories in church history: In 853, an Englishwoman, dressed as a man, reigned as Pope John VIII for two years before her ruse was uncovered.
Most Catholics probably have never heard of the "she-pope," as Stanford calls Joan/John. Stanford, a British journalist and former editor of The Catholic Herald, suggests that's because the church, which has long refuted the story of Joan as mere fable or Protestant propaganda, wants it that way.
"The Catholic Church's objection to female ordination is based not on scripture but on tradition," writes Stanford in a book that unfolds like a good mystery yarn. "There have never been women priests so there never can be. That argument might be difficult to sustain if once a woman had sat on Saint Peter's throne."
Likewise, a female pope would also deal a serious blow to the church's sacred notion that pontiffs are divinely ordained to be the vicars of Christ on earth. "For even if Joan fooled the men around her, she could not have tricked God," Stanford argues. "He would have known her real identity and gender. Did God want a female pope? And if he did, where does that leave the current Catholic ban on women at the altar?"
Stanford leans on circumstantial evidence to build a strong, if not entirely convincing, case for Joan. Still, he skillfully juggles facts, hints, and possibilities to turn out a fascinating historical detective story.
He gives us some tantalizing clues. There is the shrine on Rome's Vicus Papissa — literally the "street of the woman pope" — that is believed to have once contained a statue of Joan. The street is supposedly where John gave birth — thus revealing her true gender — and was killed.
To the church, as Stanford details, the story of the "she-pope" is a Protestant smear campaign perpetrated in the early years of the Reformation. "Dedicated followers of Luther, Calvin and Henry VIII tampered with ancient manuscripts . . . so as to make the papacy look foolish and hence belittle its claim to universal, God-given authority," he writes.
Stanford spent countless hours combing through ancient Vatican manuscripts in several European libraries to try to corroborate the story of Joan. The reader is rewarded with a thorough, intelligent and absorbing tale.
