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