The Hussites

 As I have noted before, the majority culture of Europe's Middle Ages was Christianity, but there was often strong disagreement over what Christianity entailed and which version was the correct version.  We are used to varieties of Christianity in the US, Catholicism, Greek Orthodoxy, Episcopalians, Baptists, Unitarians, Lutherans, and I'm just scratching the surface.  The difference is that for the most part people have a laissez-faire attitude these days toward other versions of religion, whereas for the most part medieval people found such variety deeply concerning.

(Though I should note that my mother, as a little girl in a nice Methodist household, was told rather triumphantly by her Catholic playmate that her parents weren't really married, that she was a bastard and not really baptized, and that she was going to Hell.)

The Hussites were a group of followers of John Hus in the late Middle Ages, labeled as heretics although, like all heretics, they asserted they were the true Christians and the others the actual heretics.  You can really only tell who was "really" the heretic by who ultimately won.  This isn't as cynical as you'd think.  Medieval Christians figured God would ultimately make sure the real Christians triumphed in the end.  It all made sense.

John Hus (1369-1415) was a theologian in Bohemia, in what is now the Czech Republic.  He became a professor at the University of Prague, then recently established.  He was perfectly orthodox, that is considered to have correct religious beliefs, though like many theologians arguing over doctrine he periodically got into trouble with his archbishop.  But he started questioning the church's practice of having lay people receive Mass with the wafer only, rather than both wine and wafer.  This had been established in the early Middle Ages out of fear that lay people might either spill or chug-a-lug the wine, neither appropriate for the Blood of Christ.  (Indeed, this continued in Catholicism until the Vatican iI council in the 1960s.)

Hus argued that the Bible showed Jesus urging his disciples at the Last Supper to partake of both bread and wine.  Those who agreed with him were called Utraquists, from the Latin for "both" (utraque).  Though Hus had been a respected theologian, this contrary teaching was considered deeply troubling.  Europe's bishops were at the time trying to resolve the Great Schism, where there were three different men all claiming to be pope (one each in Rome and Avignon, plus a third left over from a failed earlier council), and they called a council at Constance in 1415 to resolve this, and figured they'd start the council with something easier, like deciding what to do with the Utraquists.

Hus was invited to the council to present his arguments.  The emperor Sigismund said he'd guarantee his safety.  If you check Hus's death date, you can tell where this is going.  He was ruled a heretic, the emperor said he couldn't honor the safe-conduct he'd given a heretic, and Hus went to the stake rather than renounce his beliefs.  Even today, you do not tell Sigismund jokes in Bohemia.

(As I've noted before, I'd have made a lousy heretic, as at the first sign of burning at the stake I'd have renounced my "false" beliefs so fast it would make your head spin.  But that's just me.)

Hus's followers, now called Hussites, immediately rebelled against the emperor.  They carried out guerrilla warfare, dragging cannons through the woods to blast imperial soldiers.  At a certain point the organized church, which had in the meantime managed to resolve the schism and settled on having the pope just be one more Renaissance tyrant, basically decided to let the Hussites be heretics if they wanted to endanger their souls so badly, "see if we care."  Utraquists were still around as the Protestant Reformation got underway a century later, further complicating things.  But that story takes us out of the Middle Ages.

 © C. Dale Brittain 2024

For more on medieval Christianity and other aspects of medieval history, see my ebook Positively Medieval, available on Amazon and other ebook platforms. Also available in paperback.

Avignon

 Last week I blogged about anti-popes, that is men elected as pope but who are not ultimately recognized as real popes.  Real popes were those men elected as pope who were indeed ultimately recognized.  When you have both real popes and anti-popes (and you generally don't have an anti-pope without a pope), you have a schism, a split in the church when some people follow one pope, some the other.

The Great Schism involves late medieval popes.  The story starts at Avignon, a pleasant city in southern France.  Below is a picture of the town's medieval bridge.  There is a little French children's song, "Sur le pont, d'Avignon, on y danse" (On the bridge of Avignon, people are dancing).

Avignon originally had nothing of the schism about it.  In 1303 the pope died, just as the king of France was announcing he was going to arrest the pope and try him for heresy.  (Yes, if you thought medieval people lived in fear of the pope, you are mistaken.)  The cardinals, wanting to keep on the good side of the king, elected a Frenchman as pope in 1304.  He started toward Rome but got no further than Provence, that is the southeastern corner of France.  Avignon seemed like a nice place, so he stopped there while sorting out some issues but somehow never got moving again.  He and his successors just stayed in Avignon.

They built a lovely large palace (which is still there), planted vineyards (think Châteauneuf du Pape), and proved themselves serious administrators, not inspiring but not corrupt.  Avignon was a good choice, because even though it really was French, politically it was just within the border of the Holy Roman Empire, and thus the popes could say plausibly that they weren't really in the French king's pocket.

But everyone said they should get back to Rome. Somehow it never quite happened, for three-quarters of a century.  Finally in 1378 the whole papal curia got themselves together at last and headed off to Rome.  What a mess!  Nobody had cleaned up the place in generations.  The pope announced he was heading home to Avignon but instead he died.

The Roman mob demanded the cardinals elect an Italian, which the terrified cardinals did.  But when the new pope started throwing his weight around, the cardinals decided they had only elected him "under duress," which didn't count, and raced back to Avignon where they elected a different pope.  The Great Schism was on.

Earlier schisms had been cleared up within a generation, but this one dragged on, with the Roman pope and the Avignon pope both getting supporters (respectively the English and the French king, who were having the Hundred Years with each other), and both excommunicating the others' adherents.  Everyone agreed this was horrible, and a big council seemed like the only solution.

In 1408-9 a great council was held at Pisa.  Both the Roman and Avignon popes were denounced as schismatic heretics and formally deposed.  The council elected a new pope to replace them.  You can probably guess what happened.  Now there were three popes.

You  might have thought the failure of the Council of Pisa would have turned everyone against councils, but it was really their only option.  In 1417 the Council of Constance, announcing that a general council held its power only from God, deposed all three popes, and the Great Schism was over.  There have been a few anti-popes since, but none ever got much support.

But in the meantime the papacy had pretty much lost all respect.  The popes settled down to be one more Renaissance tyrant, and the Reformation was only a century away.

© C. Dale Brittain 2020

For more on the medieval church, see my ebook, Positively Medieval:  Life and Society in the Middle Ages.  Also available in paperback.