Meanwhile a mighty prophet had arisen, with a clear and startling
message. His name was Peter, and he lived down south, in the little
village of Chelcic.[3] As the historian rummages among the ancient
records, he discovers to his sorrow that scarcely anything is known of
the life of this great man; but, on the other hand, it is a joy to
know that while his story is wrapped in mystery, his teaching has been
preserved, and that some of the wonderful books he wrote are treasured
still in his native land as gems of Bohemian literature. In later years
it was commonly said that he began life as a cobbler; but that story,
at least, may be dismissed as a legend. He enlisted, we are told, in
the army. He then discovered that a soldier's life was wicked; he then
thought of entering a monastery, but was shocked by what he heard of the
immoralities committed within the holy walls; and finally, having some
means of his own, retired to his little estate at Chelcic, and spent
his time in writing pamphlets about the troubles of his country. He
had picked up a smattering of education in Prague. He had studied the
writings of Wycliffe and of Hus, and often appealed to Wycliffe in his
works. He could quote, when he liked, from the great Church Fathers. He
had a fair working knowledge of the Bible; and, above all, he had the
teaching of Christ and the Apostles engraved upon his conscience and his
heart. As he was not a priest, he could afford to be independent; as he
knew but little Latin, he wrote in Bohemian; and thus, like Stitny and
Hus before him, he appealed to the people in language they could all
understand. Of all the leaders of men in Bohemia, this Peter was the
most original and daring. As he pondered on the woes of his native land,
he came to the firm but sad conclusion that the whole system of religion
and politics was rotten to the core. Not one of the jangling sects was
in the right. Not one was true to the spirit of Christ. Not one was
free from the dark red stain of murder. His chief works were his Net
of Faith, his Reply to Nicholas of Pilgram, his Reply to Rockycana, his
Image of the Beast, his theological treatise On the Body of Christ,
his tract The Foundation of Worldly Laws, his devotional commentary,
Exposition of the Passion according to St. John, and, last, though not
least, his volume of discourses on the Gospel lessons for the year,
entitled Postillia. Of these works the most famous was his masterly Net
of Faith. He explained the title himself. "Through His disciples," said
Peter, "Christ caught the world in the net of His faith, but the bigger
fishes, breaking the net, escaped. Then others followed through these
same holes made by the big fishes, and the net was left almost empty."
His meaning was clear to all. The net was the true Church of Christ; the
two whales who broke it were the Emperor and the Pope; the big fishes
were the mighty "learned persons, heretics and offenders"; and the
little fishes were the true followers of Christ.
He opened his bold campaign in dramatic style. When John Ziska and
Nicholas of Husinec declared at Prague that the time had come for the
faithful to take up arms in their own defence, Peter was present at the
debate, and contended that for Christians war was a crime. {1419.}
"What is war?" he asked. "It is a breach of the laws of God! All
soldiers are violent men, murderers, a godless mob!"
He hated war like a Quaker, and soldiers like Tolstoy himself. He
regarded the terrible Hussite Wars as a disgrace to both sides. As the
fiery Ziska swept the land with his waggons, this Apostle of peace was
sick with horror. "Where," he asked, in his Reply to Rockycana, "has God
recalled His commands, 'Thou shalt not kill,' 'Thou shalt not steal,'
'Thou shalt not take thy neighbour's goods'? If God has not repealed
these commands, they ought still to be obeyed to-day in Prague and
Tabor. I have learned from Christ, and by Christ I stand; and if the
Apostle Peter himself were to come down from Heaven and say that it was
right for us to take up arms to defend the truth, I should not believe
him."
For Peter the teaching of Christ and the Apostles was enough. It was
supreme, final, perfect. If a king made a new law, he was spoiling
the teaching of Christ. If the Pope issued a bull, he was spoiling the
teaching of Christ. If a Council of Bishops drew up a decree, they were
spoiling the teaching of Christ. As God, said Peter, had revealed His
will to full perfection in Jesus Christ, there was no need for laws made
by men. "Is the law of God sufficient, without worldly laws, to
guide and direct us in the path of the true Christian religion? With
trembling, I answer, it is. It was sufficient for Christ Himself, and it
was sufficient for His disciples." And, therefore, the duty of all
true Christians was as clear as the noon-day sun. He never said that
Christian people should break the law of the land. He admitted that
God might use the law for good purposes; and therefore, as Christ had
submitted to Pilate, so Christians must submit to Government. But there
their connection with Government must end. For heathens the State was
a necessary evil; for Christians it was an unclean thing, and the less
they had to do with it the better. They must never allow the State to
interfere in matters within the Church. They must never drag each other
before the law courts. They must never act as judges or magistrates.
They must never take any part whatever in municipal or national
government. They must never, if possible, live in a town at all. If
Christians, said Peter, lived in a town, and paid the usual rates and
taxes, they were simply helping to support a system which existed for
the protection of robbers. He regarded towns as the abodes of vice, and
citizens as rogues and knaves. The first town, he said, was built by the
murderer, Cain. He first murdered his brother Abel; he then gathered his
followers together; he then built a city, surrounded by walls; and thus,
by robbery and violence, he became a well-to-do man. And modern towns,
said Peter, were no whit better. At that time the citizens of some towns
in Bohemia enjoyed certain special rights and privileges; and this, to
Peter, seemed grossly unfair. He condemned those citizens as thieves.
"They are," he said, "the strength of Anti-Christ; they are adversaries
to Christ; they are an evil rabble; they are bold in wickedness; and
though they pretend to follow the truth, they will sit at tables with
wicked people and knavish followers of Judas." For true Christians,
therefore, there was only one course open. Instead of living in godless
towns, they should try to settle in country places, earn their living as
farmers or gardeners, and thus keep as clear of the State as possible.
They were not to try to support the law at all. If they did, they were
supporting a wicked thing, which never tried to make men better, but
only crushed them with cruel and useless punishments. They must never
try to make big profits in business. If they did, they were simply
robbing and cheating their neighbours. They must never take an oath, for
oaths were invented by the devil. They must never, in a word, have any
connection with that unchristian institution called the State.
And here Peter waxed vigorous and eloquent. He objected, like Wycliffe,
to the union of Church and State. Of all the bargains ever struck,
the most wicked, ruinous and pernicious was the bargain struck between
Church and State, when Constantine the Great first took the Christians
under the shadow of his wing. For three hundred years, said Peter,
the Church of Christ had remained true to her Master; and then this
disgusting heathen Emperor, who had not repented of a single sin, came
in with his vile "Donation," and poisoned all the springs of her life.
If the Emperor, said Peter, wanted to be a Christian, he ought first to
have laid down his crown. He was a ravenous beast; he was a wolf in the
fold; he was a lion squatting at the table; and at that fatal moment in
history, when he gave his "Donation" to the Pope, an angel in heaven
had spoken the words: "This day has poison entered the blood of the
Church."[4]
"Since that time," said Peter, "these two powers, Imperial and Papal,
have clung together. They have turned everything to account in Church
and in Christendom for their own impious purposes. Theologians,
professors, and priests are the satraps of the Emperor. They ask the
Emperor to protect them, so that they may sleep as long as possible, and
they create war so that they may have everything under their thumb."
If Peter lashed the Church with whips, he lashed her priests with
scorpions. He accused them of various vices. They were immoral; they
were superstitious; they were vain, ignorant and empty-headed; and,
instead of feeding the Church of God, they had almost starved her to
death. He loathed these "honourable men, who sit in great houses, these
purple men, with their beautiful mantles, their high caps, their fat
stomachs." He accused them of fawning on the rich and despising the
poor. "As for love of pleasure," he said, "immorality, laziness,
greediness, uncharitableness and cruelty--as for these things, the
priests do not hold them as sins when committed by princes, nobles and
rich commoners. They do not tell them plainly, "You will go to hell if
you live on the fat of the poor, and live a bestial life," although they
know that the rich are condemned to eternal death by such behaviour.
Oh, no! They prefer to give them a grand funeral. A crowd of priests,
clergy, and other folk make a long procession. The bells are rung. There
are masses, singings, candles and offerings. The virtues of the dead
man are proclaimed from the pulpit. They enter his soul in the books of
their cloisters and churches to be continually prayed for, and if what
they say be true, that soul cannot possibly perish, for he has been so
kind to the Church, and must, indeed, be well cared for."
He accused them, further, of laziness and gluttony. "They pretend to
follow Christ," he said, "and have plenty to eat every day. They have
fish, spices, brawn, herrings, figs, almonds, Greek wine and other
luxuries. They generally drink good wine and rich beer in large
quantities, and so they go to sleep. When they cannot get luxuries they
fill themselves with vulgar puddings till they nearly burst. And this is
the way the priests fast." He wrote in a similar strain of the mendicant
friars. He had no belief in their profession of poverty, and accused
them of gathering as much money as they could. They pocketed more money
by begging, he declared, than honest folk could earn by working; they
despised plain beef, fat bacon and peas, and they wagged their tails
with joy when they sat down to game and other luxuries. "Many citizens,"
said Peter, "would readily welcome this kind of poverty."
He accused the priests of loose teaching and shameless winking at sin.
"They prepare Jesus," he said, "as a sweet sauce for the world, so that
the world may not have to shape its course after Jesus and His heavy
Cross, but that Jesus may conform to the world; and they make Him softer
than oil, so that every wound may be soothed, and the violent, thieves,
murderers and adulterers may have an easy entrance into heaven."
He accused them of degrading the Seven Sacraments. They baptized
sinners, young and old, without demanding repentance. They sold the
Communion to rascals and rogues, like a huckstress offering her wares.
They abused Confession by pardoning men who never intended to amend
their evil ways. They allowed men of the vilest character to be ordained
as priests. They degraded marriage by preaching the doctrine that it was
less holy than celibacy. They distorted the original design of Extreme
Unction, for instead of using it to heal the sick they used it to line
their own pockets. And all these blasphemies, sins and follies were the
offspring of that adulterous union between the Church and the State,
which began in the days of Constantine the Great. For of all the evils
under Heaven, the greatest, said Peter, was that contradiction in
terms--a State Church.
He attacked the great theologians and scholars. Instead of using their
mental powers in the search for truth, these college men, said Peter,
had done their best to suppress the truth; and at the two great Councils
of Constance and Basle, they had actually obtained the help of the
temporal power to crush all who dared to hold different views from
theirs. What use, asked Peter, were these learned pundits? They were no
use at all. They never instructed anybody. "I do not know," he said,
"a single person whom they have helped with their learning." Had they
instructed Hus? No. Hus had the faith in himself; Hus was instructed by
God; and all that these ravens did for Hus was to flock together against
him.
Again, Peter denounced the Bohemian nobles. As we read his biting,
satirical phrases we can see that he was no respecter of persons and
no believer in artificial distinctions of rank. For him the only
distinction worth anything was the moral distinction between those who
followed the crucified Jesus and those who rioted in selfish pleasures.
He had no belief in blue blood and noble birth. He was almost, though
not quite, a Socialist. He had no definite, constructive social policy.
He was rather a champion of the rights of the poor, and an apostle of
the simple life. "The whole value of noble birth," he said, "is founded
on a wicked invention of the heathen, who obtained coats of arms from
emperors or kings as a reward for some deed of valour." If a man could
only buy a coat of arms--a stag, a gate, a wolf's head, or a sausage--he
became thereby a nobleman, boasted of his high descent, and was regarded
by the public as a saint. For such "nobility" Peter had a withering
contempt. He declared that nobles of this stamp had no right to belong
to the Christian Church. They lived, he said, in flat opposition to the
spirit of Jesus Christ. They devoured the poor. They were a burden to
the country. They did harm to all men. They set their minds on worldly
glory, and spent their money on extravagant dress. "The men," said he,
"wear capes reaching down to the ground, and their long hair falls down
to their shoulders; and the women wear so many petticoats that they
can hardly drag themselves along, and strut about like the Pope's
courtezans, to the surprise and disgust of the whole world." What right
had these selfish fops to call themselves Christians? They did more harm
to the cause of Christ than all the Turks and heathens in the world.
Thus Peter, belonging to none of the sects, found grievous faults in
them all. As he always mentions the Waldenses with respect, it has been
suggested that he was a Waldensian himself. But of that there is no real
proof. He had, apparently, no organizing skill; he never attempted to
form a new sect or party, and his mission in the world was to throw
out hints and leave it to others to carry these hints into practice.
He condemned the Utraquists because they used the sword. "If a man," he
said, "eats a black pudding on Friday, you blame him; but if he sheds
his brother's blood on the scaffold or on the field of battle you
praise him." He condemned the Taborites because they made light of the
Sacraments. "You have called the Holy Bread," he said, "a butterfly, a
bat, an idol. You have even told the people that it is better to kneel
to the devil than to kneel at the altar; and thus you have taught them
to despise religion and wallow in unholy lusts." He condemned the King
for being a King at all; for no intelligent man, said Peter, could
possibly be a King and a Christian at the same time. And finally he
condemned the Pope as Antichrist and the enemy of God.
Yet Peter was something more than a caustic critic. For the terrible
ills of his age and country he had one plain and homely remedy, and that
for all true Christians to leave the Church of Rome and return to the
simple teaching of Christ and His Apostles. If the reader goes to Peter
for systematic theology, he will be grievously disappointed; but if he
goes for moral vigour, he will find a well-spread table.
He did not reason his positions out like Wycliffe; he was a suggestive
essayist rather than a constructive philosopher; and, radical though
he was in some of his views, he held firm to what he regarded as
the fundamental articles of the Christian faith. He believed in the
redemptive value of the death of Christ. He believed that man must build
his hopes, not so much on his own good works, but rather on the grace
of God. He believed, all the same, that good works were needed and
would receive their due reward. He believed, further, in the real
bodily presence of Christ in the Sacrament; and on this topic he held
a doctrine very similar to Luther's doctrine of Consubstantiation. But,
over and above all these beliefs, he insisted, in season and out of
season, that men could partake of spiritual blessings without the aid
of Roman priests. Some fruit of his labours he saw. As the fire of
the Hussite Wars died down, a few men in different parts of the
country--especially at Chelcic, Wilenow and Divischau--began to take
Peter as their spiritual guide. They read his pamphlets with delight,
became known as the "Brethren of Chelcic," and wore a distinctive dress,
a grey cloak with a cord tied round the waist. The movement spread, the
societies multiplied, and thus, in a way no records tell, were laid the
foundations of the Church of the Brethren. Did Peter see that Church? We
do not know. No one knows when Peter was born, and no one knows when
he died. He delivered his message; he showed the way; he flashed his
lantern in the darkness; and thus, whether he knew it or not, he was the
literary founder of the Brethren's Church. He fired the hope. He drew
the plans. It was left to another man to erect the building.