We now have an outline of Antony’s life as a background to the writing of the Sermones Dominicales and the Sermones Festivi. In this second chapter I want to focus on Antony as a preacher. Firstly, I want to examine the evidence we have from the early biographies regarding Antony’s own preaching ministry, and to set it in the context of contemporary preaching in general, and of early Franciscan preaching in particular. Secondly, I want to look at the evidence from Antony’s own writings which bears on the models he himself followed, and on how he saw the role of the preacher, and presented it to his own followers.

Preaching has always been integral to Christianity. J. Longère has defined preaching as: ‘Public discourse, based on divine revelation, within the context of an organised society, with a view to the birth or the development of faith and religious understanding; and, correlatively, to the conversion or the spiritual progress of the hearers.’ The New Testament itself furnishes examples of both kinds of preaching, namely that aimed at conversion and the birth of faith on the one hand, and at the development of faith and spiritual progress on the other. Throughout Christian history we find both being practised, and by the twelfth century we may distinguish at least three main contexts in which such preaching took place, each with its own distinct style. There was monastic preaching, typically by the abbot to his monks, and rooted in the long tradition of lectio divina, the meditative reading of the Scriptures. More recently, a style of university or scholastic preaching had grown up, notably at Paris, in which praedicatio grew out of lectio and disputatio. Finally, but not least in importance, there was popular preaching, directed to the ordinary faithful, taking place in parish churches and other places, by accredited preachers or by members of the popular movements mentioned in the previous chapter.

Early Franciscan preaching belonged to this last type, and it followed the example of Francis himself. We have a vivid word-picture of this in the following eye-witness description by Thomas, Archdeacon of Spalato (Split), relating to the year 1222:

 The first friars, like the convert Humiliati and Waldensians, were allowed to preach only as long as they kept to simple moral exhortation, and away from Scriptural exposition or theology. The reason for this prohibition is obvious: most of them were laymen, untrained in those disciplines. There were, indeed, some priests; even (as we have seen) some learned lawyers; but early sources strongly suggest that Antony was the first member of the Order who was a trained theologian.

It is instructive to examine the early legislation of the Order as regards preaching. In the Rule of 1221 we have:

and:

The requirement that the Friars must be Catholics is significant. Francis was well aware of the dangers of heresy, and one of his primary aims was to counteract it by preaching the Gospel under the auspices of the Church. Unlike Valdès, he did not even begin to preach until he had the permission, not simply of his local Bishop, but of the Pope himself. It was precisely because Innocent had given his approval to Francis’ simple ‘Form of Life’ that the Franciscans escaped the legislation of Lateran IV forbidding new Rules, whereas the Dominicans had to take the existing Rule of St Augustine, like the Canons (this was probably no hardship to Dominic, familiar as he was with the canonical life). We have seen that the Rule of 1221, though drawn up by Francis and presented to the friars in Chapter, was controversial and never officially approved. In addition to the points already quoted, there is an exhortation in chapter seven for the friars ‘not to appear gloomy or depressed like hypocrites’ as they go about- perhaps a reference to the ways of the Cathars? Yet Francis surely appreciated the power of the Cathars’ simple way of living, in contrast to the pomp of many prelates, and this may also explain why, in chapter fifteen, ‘The friars... are also forbidden to ride horseback, unless they are forced to it by sickness or real necessity.’ (We easily forget that the extensive journeys of Antony were all made on foot: no wonder he was worn out at a comparatively early age!)

The Rule of 1223 resulted from a revision made by Francis with the help of Bros Leo and Bonizo (a canon lawyer), and also of Cardinal Ugolino, who helped to gain Papal approval- the Bull ‘Solet annuere’. Chapter three renews the prohibition on riding, except in necessity or sickness. The regulation of preaching comes in Chapter nine:

 It is against this background that we must set the accounts of the preaching of St Antony. As we have seen, the earliest of these is Celano’s account of the chapter at Arles, published in Antony’s own lifetime. Antony is described as one ‘whose mind the Lord has opened to understand the Scriptures, and to speak among the people words about Jesus.’ His eloquence is described in a conventional, biblical, phrase as ‘sweeter than syrup or honey’, and his fervent devotion is noted. The text he took was Pilate’s inscription on the Cross, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews’, and his audience was a gathering of friars, in ‘the house in which there were many other brothers gathered’.

Only about a year after Antony’s death, the Vita Prima, written by a friar close to Antony in his last years, gives us information about Antony’s preaching in Italy, beginning with the famous sermon at Forlì.. After his preaching ability had been recognised, he appears to have been sent to the minister provincial (Bro. Graziano), and,

Antony’s preaching was itinerant and authorised, and evidently effective. Whether ‘nomen evangelistae compensaret’ implies some formal title, or merely that he ‘made a name for himself’, I am not sure; but from the beginning his activity was associated with evangelizing, and perhaps even, particularly, with the Gospels themselves. His effectiveness against heresy is quickly noted. At Rimini,

Not a few were converted, including one famous heretic, Bononillo. The language used is conventional, but there may be a hint in the phrase ‘philosophorum non novit argutias’ that Antony was not inclined to use the dialectical methods of the schools in arguing with heretics. At a later date, Antony was to be sent to the Curia, where he preached before the Pope and the Cardinals:

The account continues:

Behind the conventional phrases we can detect historical fact. Well-educated people were somewhat surprised by his style of preaching; it manifested a profound knowledge of Scripture, and yet did not fit into the accepted models of ‘praedicatio’ that they were used to. There was a contrast between the academic style of the Paris schools in which many of the Cardinals had been trained, and that of the young Portuguese who never been to Paris, and who used a more popular idiom. In the same way, ordinary folk were impressed by the way in which he brought home to them the reality of sin and the moral life. With reference to flattery, Antony expresses his thoughts on how to deal with it in his Sermon for the Fifth Sunday of Lent. He is discussing the word ‘demon’, and notes that in Greek ‘daimon’ can mean a spirit of wisdom; he then says,

The most remarkable example of Antony’s preaching ministry is the Lenten mission he preached at Padua towards the end of his life. At the beginning of Lent, 1231,

At first, Antony preached in the churches, a different one each day; but this system broke down because of the great numbers desiring to hear him;

The biographer (who clearly was present) tells how people came from the towns and villages round about, getting up in the middle of the night to be sure of a place, and coming with lamps. Knights and noble-women could be seen arriving while it was still dark, and spending a great part of the day with their eyes fixed on the preacher’s face. Worldly clothes were put away, and religious dress was the norm. The Bishop and his clergy devoutly followed Antony, setting an example to the people. The biographer estimates that thirty thousand people were present at a time, without a shout or a murmur. The shopkeepers shut their shops in order to go to the sermons themselves, while women took scissors to snip off pieces of Antony’s habit! So many men and women were induced to go to confession that there were not enough friars, or other priests, to accommodate them. When Antony died, later that same year, it is not surprising that his funeral was marked by unprecedented scenes of grief.

For Antony’s time in France we are largely dependent on Jean Rigauld, who, however, seems to have been conscientious in recording the accounts of eye-witnesses. The episodes that concern Antony’s preaching are as follows:

Here, Antony is preaching to lay-people gathered in church for part of the Holy Week ceremonies. The occasion was marked by a ‘bilocation’ of Antony, which Rigauld likens to an incident in the life of St Ambrose. Antony would have been preaching on a Passiontide theme. Elsewhere, as we noted in the previous chapter, Rigauld comments on the frequency with which Antony treated the theme of poverty. Already, Antony often found that there were too many people wanting to hear him to fit into the local church:

The provision of an improvised wooden pulpit must have been necessary more than once, one imagines. As well as such popular preaching, Antony was in demand at important clerical gatherings:

Even Archbishops could be reduced to tears by Antony’s preaching, and afterwards steered towards confession! The reference to ‘Scriptural testimonies’ is also to be noted. On the other hand, Rigauld also gives us an instance of Antony using the ‘Book of Nature’ to drive home his point. The story is a famous one, appearing also in the ‘Fioretti’, but this appears earlier and less elaborated.

If these heretics were Cathars, we can appreciate why Antony stressed the goodness of the Creator, and the way the material world revealed that goodness. We may note, also, that the story begins with heretics despising and laughing at Antony: his preaching was not always immediately successful. On another occasion, Rigauld records a dispute with heretics about the Eucharist. One final story from Rigauld, which again illustrates the circumstances in which Antony preached to large crowds:

While Antony was speaking, a thunderstorm arose, and the people began to panic, until Antony called them to order.

Before leaving Antony’s period in France, there is one other source I have come across with some account of Antony’s preaching. Fr de Chérancé cites the Chronicle of Pierre Coral, Abbot of St Martin at Limoges, who records that when Antony arrived there he preached in the cemetery of St Paul’s on the text ‘In the evening weeping shall have place, and in the morning gladness’ (Ps 29.67). The occasion may have been All Souls’ Day, or perhaps a funeral. This text is also treated in the Sermones Dominicales, for Septuagesima. The next day he preached in the Abbey on the excellence of monastic life. De Chérancé gives a full text of this sermon, which does not seem to be otherwise known. The style seems to me quite ‘Antonian’, but further than that I cannot say. If it is authentic, it is the only ‘reportatio’ of one of Antony’s sermons known to me.

The early sources give us enough information, then (if only in passing), to draw a reasonable picture of Antony’s preaching activity, as regards its location, its audience, its content, style and effectiveness. As regards location, Antony preached in churches and other religious buildings, including monasteries. He also preached outside churches (sometimes from improvised pulpits), and in open spaces outside towns. His audiences might be friars, other religious and other clergy, often in chapters or synods; they might also be lay people (sometimes in very large numbers), and might include heretics. The content of his sermons was notably Scriptural, and such texts as we have indicate some preference for themes relating to the poverty and Passion of Christ, and to the need for repentance and confession. He did not scruple to rebuke even the higher clergy for their faults. Sometimes he spoke of the goodness of Creation, and our duty of gratitude and praise. His style tended to be clear and brief, and marked by fervent devotion and charity. He impressed the learned with his grasp of doctrine, and he moved all to conversion and penitence. All in all, Antony appears similar to many popular preachers of his time; he was unusual in the breadth and depth of his Scriptural knowledge, but like his fellow friars, he was much occupied with ‘vice and virtue, punishment and glory’. As regards Antony’s oral style, it seems reasonable to assume that many of its characteristics have passed through to his written work, and to apply to it what E. Franceschini has said of his literary style:

There is bound to be a certain subjectivity in judgement, but there are many passages in the written Sermones which seem to reflect oral techniques. These are to be found especially in Antony’s denunciations of abuse, and in his ‘preference for the poor.’

Antony’s own writings confirm and strengthen the impression we have gained from the external evidence. I stress again that the Sermones Dominicales and the Sermones Festivi are not as they stand sermons preached by Antony, although they contain material he preached. They depart from his oral style in important ways, notably in being much longer and more systematic. Antony himself indicates that they contain material, or ‘themes’, for a number of ‘sermons’. There are nevertheless many passages (such as those quoted in the previous chapter) which have the ring of oral style. The Opus Dominicale is addressed to Antony’s own brethren; many of the ‘apostrophes’ are clearly directed to clerical and other sinners- especially prelates. Such passages indicate what a powerful and down-to-earth preacher Antony could be. What I wish to explore in this section is the influence on Antony of earlier preachers. Who were his models? Antony quotes many authors and works in his Sermones, but the three main preachers whose sermons he quotes are Augustine, Gregory, and Bernard. Even a cursory examination of the Sermones (especially the Opus Dominicale) reveals his extensive knowledge of them. There is scarcely a sermon without at least one quotation from each, often several quotations, often cited by name. Some of the citations of Augustine and Gregory come via the Gloss, or via Peter Lombard’s ‘Sentences’, but the majority appear to be from direct acquaintance with their works. We have independent evidence that some of these were available to Antony in Portugal- Augustine’s sermons, for instance, and Gregory’s Moralia- though others he must have found in libraries elsewhere. This gives some indication of how he spent his ‘leisure hours’ when not actually preaching or travelling. The sermons of Bernard were available at Coimbra, and Cistercian influence was strong there through the great abbey of Alcobaça. At this point, I want only to consider the general ‘stylistic’ influence of these great preachers, given that Antony was well acquainted with them. I will also note some contrasts with another preacher whom Antony revered, but quotes less frequently, Pope Innocent III.

Antony seems to have been influenced by Augustine in two ways: by his theory, as expressed in De doctrina christiana, and by his practice as expressed in his actual sermons. Augustine (354-430) would have been important to Antony, if only as the author of the Rule under which he began his religious life, and in a sense the ‘founder’ of the order of Canons. But if piety sent him to Augustine’s sermons in the first place, he must have been struck immediately by their intrinsic power as examples of Christian preaching; and, as he undertook his own ministry, by their practical utility. Augustine had been a city-bishop of Roman north Africa, and his preaching was aimed at a few congregations which he knew well- his own in the cathedral at Hippo, or that at Carthage where he was a regular guest preacher. Yet his ministry was complicated by the presence of the influential Donatist Church, a ‘puritan’ sect not wholly unlike the later Waldensians, and considerably more successful; and in his youth he had been closely connected with the Manichees, who were regarded in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries as the precursors of the Cathars, whatever the doctrinal differences we may now see between them.

Nearly 700 authentic sermons of Augustine are known, and there must have been many more, now lost. A study of these sermons reveals not only much circumstantial detail about contemporary church life, occasions and audiences, but show us how Augustine employed a great variety of stylistic ‘tricks’ to hold his audience. He was evidently very responsive to his hearers’ mood. He asks rhetorical questions, he constructs imaginary dialogues with an objector, he employs rhythm and rhyme, numerology, parallelism and contrast. He is quite prepared to use ‘slang’ expressions, where they will make his meaning clear and memorable; but he can build up to a powerful and elevated style when he chooses. Even reading his sermons, as clergy and others still do in the course of the Divine Office, we feel something of his personality. For instance, in his homilies on St John’s Gospel, when speaking of the Samaritan woman, he invites his hearers to identify with her: ‘We must listen to ourselves in her. We must recognise ourselves in her person.’ Again, in speaking of John the Baptist, he seems to explain something of his own approach to preaching:

As well as the examples of his sermons, Augustine left a kind of handbook for preachers in the fourth book of his De doctrina christiana. I am not sure whether Antony had actually read De doctrina christiana (well-known though it was). Actual quotations from it are hard to identify; but the essence of its teaching is exemplified in his own approach. The fourth book assumes that preachers will be thoroughly conversant with Scriptural interpretation, and its intent is to help them to deliver their Biblical message- the preacher is ‘nothing but an interpreter and expounder of Holy Scripture’ . First one should aim to understand, then to know by heart, and finally to present eloquently. The work is not systematic, but contains good advice and examples. Augustine notes that the classical rules of rhetoric (in which he himself had been trained), though often useful, are not indispensable: better to read the great authors of the Church, and to listen to good speakers. However, each should develop his own style. This is advice that Antony certainly seems to have followed, rather than the formal rules of the Artes praedicandi of his own time. Augustine was prepared to follow Cicero in his division of the art of speaking. One may simply teach and explain. This is not difficult, with a sympathetic audience. One may need to prove one’s point- this is harder, and it is necessary to hold the hearers’ attention. But the christian preacher will also wish to move his audience to a change of life, and this will require ‘pathos’, a style that speaks to the heart. Finally, the preacher should recall that the example of his own life speaks loudest- ‘Sit eius quasi copia dicendi, forma vivendi.’

The second of Antony’s great models was St Gregory (c.540-604). Living in darker days than Augustine, his spirituality was monastic and apocalyptic, probably in response to the collapse of society. His writings include the Moralia in Job and the Homilies on Ezekiel (aimed at monastic audiences), the Homilies on the Gospels, Pastoral Rule and Dialogues (more popular), and many letters. Gregory took Augustine as a reference-point, but he was also influenced by Greek tradition. He was familiar with classical authors (Cicero, Seneca) and shows traces of Stoic thought. The keynotes of his approach may be said to be balance, equilibrium, and moderation. He drew from many sources, but digested and transformed them.

Antony knew Gregory’s writings well- perhaps even better than those of Augustine. It is from Gregory that he derives his predilection for the Book of Job; and from Gregory he gets an attitude to Creation that is in line with Franciscan spirituality:

Gregory wanted to demonstrate the fundamental unity of God’s order, despite its patent divisions and differences. He saw evil as rooted in change and mutability, good in reason and stability, and an important virtue for him was ‘discretio’ (discretion, discernment). He used illustrations from the nature of animals to illuminate human characteristics. Animals revealed instincts found, but often hidden, in men: e.g. the ostrich, ass, hedgehog, rhinoceros, eagle, heron, locust, etc. By using the natural world for imparting moral lessons, Gregory demonstrated how it carries a message from God. The structure of the world does likewise: e.g. the setting sun in the west, the dawn in the east, the cold north and warm south; warmth, heat, cold, dryness, dampness, hardness, softness, light, dark. All these are taken up and used regularly by Antony, as is the animal parallelism. Most importantly, in my view, he finds in Gregory his whole rationale of preaching and conversion, which is at the heart of his enterprise.

Gregory differed from Augustine somewhat in his analysis of sin. For Augustine, sin is in the will, the soul; the body is good. For Gregory, sin arises from the conflict between soul and body, reason and sensuality. Bodily desires are irrational and anarchic. In sexual pleasure especially we ‘lose control’. Carole Straw says that Gregory’s idea of monastic life was one of self-sacrifice and self-abnegation; his idea of priesthood was centred on offering the Sacrifice of Christ for the people; the two came together in the ‘monk-bishop’. Gregory also had a very exalted idea of the role of the preacher in rousing sinners to repentance.

Carole Straw has analysed Gregory’s understanding of conversion along these lines: Adversity (or the chastisement of the preacher) is seen as causing men to reflect on the causes of their troubles in the inner court of conscience. A key notion is ‘compunction’. Gregory sees conversion as a two-stage process of reform. Compunction is first focused on emotions of fear and sorrow, then on joy and love. ‘As the soul progresses toward perfection, it moves from a lower, outward, carnal compunction of fear to a higher, inward, spiritual compunction of love.’ These compunctions of fear and love are complementary opposites, each supplying what the other lacks. In the first phase of reform, Gregory uses legal and medical imagery.

There is both self-judgement and healing. Within the inner courtroom are prosecutor (conscience), judge (reason) and ‘exactor’ (fear, pain). Though not all suffering is due to sin, the sinner must not be complacent. The sinner is both prosecutor and accused; there is an inner conflict between good and bad, higher and lower, which is resolve when judgement is passed and accepted, with its penalty. The supplementary medical imagery is in terms of the sick soul, festering with wounds that have to be lanced and then poulticed. R. Gillet, in his introduction to Gregory’s Moralia, suggests a double basis for compunction- the religious sense of awe in the face of the ‘mysterium tremendum’, as well as a deeply felt regret for one’s own sins and failings. Gregory himself distinguishes four kinds of compunction:

1) that which makes the soul feel ‘where it is’- sinful and unfaithful;

2) that which arises from appreciation of the punishment due to sin;

3) that which is evoked by the countless troubles of this present life;

4) that which makes the soul long for ‘where it is not’, but where it hopes to be by God’s grace. This is the best form of compunction, a yearning and longing for God.

Compunction may also be divided into that of sadness and that of joy. It may be expressed in either case by tears, but these are tears of sorrow in the one case, and tears of joy (laetae lacrimae) in the other, flowing from love. Gregory emphasises the tears of compunction ‘the blood of the soul’, an Augustinian phrase Antony is fond of too, the prick of conscience (com-punctio) that bursts the boil. Repentance is itself cathartic, grief for sin dissipates the anxiety, fear and guilt. The Christian is cleansed and renewed, and given hope. He yearns for God, and love seeks union with God. Antony echoes all this. The themes of compunction and repentance regularly recur. Here he is at his most ‘Gregorian’. Beryl Smalley’s comment seems fair:

This ‘Gregorianism’ modified the considerable, but very different, influence of Antony’s third model, St Bernard (1090-1153). Compared with Augustine and Gregory, Bernard was virtually a contemporary of Antony. His memory would have been still vividly alive among the Cistercians of Alcobaça, and indeed it would have been possible (though hardly likely) for an aged monk there to have seen Bernard in France in his youth, and the young canon Fernando staying a night on his way from Lisbon to Coimbra. Bernard’s writings were certainly accessible to Antony, and he made good use of them. G.R. Evans has pointed out that Bernard’s training was in a monastic environment, somewhat apart from the University milieu of Paris, where logical studies were developing considerably. Consequently, as his writings testify, he was more at home with a scriptural exegesis based on the lectio divina than one based on dialectic. Bernard’s literary skills were expressed in his voluminous correspondence as well as in his more systematic works. The latter include both edited versions of his sermons and treatises written ad hoc. We find in his writings all sorts of literary techniques- climax, assonance, alliteration, repetition, making lists, parallelism and so on. He quotes from classical authors, though no more than was possible with the help of available florilegia and anthologies. His style matured, but was essentially formed at an early age.

If we consider Bernard as a speaker- and Evans emphasises Bernard’s strength as a ‘talker’, calling him ‘a live performer rather than a master of the considered statement’- we must see his most typical setting as that of an Abbot addressing his monks, in church or in chapter, and illustrating his points with stories and analogies. There are many marks of Bernard’s oral style: rhetorical questions to people in his ‘story’: ‘Oh! Dinah, why was it necessary for you to look at the foreign women?’; ‘And what about you, Eve?.. Why did you want the fruit?’; or dialogue with his listeners: ‘Oh! I’m just looking, you may reply’; ‘Have you never read?’ His aim was not academic, but to encourage them in the fulfilment of their vocation. In this, he exemplifies the revival of monastic preaching in the twelfth century. No longer content with merely reading the homilies of the Fathers, Abbots such as Anselm and Bernard availed themselves of the Rule’s provision for the Abbot to address his community. A familiarity with the Fathers equipped them to renew the Patristic tradition of exegesis, a continuous exposition of the Scriptures. In this way we have from Bernard seventeen sermons on the Psalm ‘Qui habitat’, and eighty-six sermons on the Song of Solomon. Bernard’s approach differed, on the one hand, from that of the University preachers and, on the other, from that of many popular preachers who were less learned. It was (in University terms) undoubtedly praedicatio, and based strongly on lectio, but there was very little disputatio. On the other hand, it presupposed a familiarity with Scripture that was not to be found among the ordinary laity.

To illustrate Bernard’s influence on Antony’s style (obviously we can only examine his literary, not his oral, style), I will take some examples from De gradibus humilitatis et superbiae. Antony seems to allude to this twice, in his Sermones for the second and third Sundays in Lent, although in neither case does he explicitly name Bernard. Referring to the steps of Jacob’s ladder, he says:

This is not a direct quotation from Bernard, but reflects closely Bernard’s own references to Jacob’s ladder and the general development of his argument. In Bernard’s Preface to Godfrey, he enumerates among the steps of humility, ‘Not to seek one’s own will’, ‘Obedience and submission to one’s superiors’, ‘Patient endurance’; and in chapter V, ‘Admission of one’s own unworthiness’, ‘Mercy towards others’ and ‘Clearing of spiritual sight’. In the following Sermon, Antony quotes: ‘Pretiosa res humilitas, quae superbia palliari appetit, ne vilescat’- ‘A fine kind of humility, whereby pride seeks to be cloaked, so as not to be despised!’ It is unfortunate that Antony attributes this to St Gregory, perhaps an indication that he was relying on his memory, which for once let him down.

Returning to Lent II, we note that Antony has two Sermones, one on the Transfiguration, the other on the Canaanite woman. The Old Testament readings were drawn that week from the history of the Patriarch Jacob, which is why Antony makes use of the story of Jacob’s ladder in both Sermons. In the first, Antony explicitly cites Bernard:

For once, the Editors give no reference, but there are similar sentiments in De gradibus, where one of the first effects of clear vision, at the top of the ladder, is a knowledge of our own failings. Thus the themes of Antony’s and Bernard’s discourses are quite close. In the second Sermon for Lent II, regarding the Canaanite woman, Antony selects a further story from the Jacob-cycle: that of Dinah. Her ravishing by Sichem parallels the demonic possession of the Canaanite’s daughter. How did Antony come to think of this ‘concordance’? Perhaps it was because, in chapter X (the first step of pride), Bernard too uses Dinah as an example. It is instructive to compare the way he does so. For Bernard, the story is taken in its literal sense, as an example of inquisitiveness leading to ruin; Antony takes it as a moral allegory of the way the soul is ensnared by the devil.

There is a further point of contact. In enumerating the steps of Pride, Bernard gives several sharp (and amusing) word-pictures of monks and their failings. One can imagine some wry grins in the Chapter-house at Clairvaux. Antony lacks that immediacy, but not totally. Consider the following passage, which is also a fine example of the rhythm and balance of his style. He is speaking, on the first Sunday in Lent, of the devil’s three temptations:

The rhetoric is powerful: the progression ‘oratio, officium, praedicatio’, each a more public act than the one before; the variation ‘volunt, desiderant, appetunt’, with the alliteration of ‘volunt videri’, ‘desiderant audiri’; the piling up of words evoking the vainglorious- genuflecting and sighing in their prayers, straining and warbling in choir, thundering, multiplying texts and twisting them as they go round in circles in the pulpit; and finally the contemptuous dismissal of them as hirelings prostituting their gifts: they have their reward. It is not exactly Bernard, but it is (I suggest) Bernard-like.

In contrast to these ‘classical’ models, contemporary Parisian theories of preaching seem to have had very little influence on Antony, even when he made use of their sermons (as in the case of Pope Innocent). Before coming to Innocent, however, there is another alleged mentor whom I would like to examine briefly. According to D.R.Lesnick, a major influence on Antony was Guibert, Abbot of Nogent (1053-1124), in his Liber quo ordine sermo fieri debeat. This seems to me an exaggerated claim, for the following reasons. Although the index of the Sermones indicates two possible citations of Guibert, neither is verbatim. One concerns the allegorical meanings of ‘Jerusalem’, and owes as much to Bede as to Guibert; while the other, though echoing Guibert’s thought on the greater usefulness of moral preaching over doctrinal, is expressed in different words. Guibert says:

Antony has:

 Nevertheless, Guibert’s work is interesting as an example of an approach to preaching very like Antony’s own, and although a detailed analysis of Guibert would be out of place here, a short summary will illustrate what I mean. Guibert’s work is in fact a preamble to his Scriptural commentary, and opens with a remark on the need of ‘doctrine’ in those who have the duty of preaching. Some who have this duty neglect it, from pride or idleness, to the harm of themselves and of those committed to their care. In any case, even if someone is not a bishop or abbot, or of any importance, he should do as St Augustine says, in accordance with his position: if he wants to live as a Christian, he should make the Christian name shine in others, as in himself. Guibert then launches into a longish discussion of good and bad people, apologising if he has spoken to excess, but his point being that the difference between good and bad lies in the inward disposition, not in outward circumstances. The book from which we preach should therefore be a pure conscience, lest while we preach good things to others, our own sinfulness blunts the force of what we say. We need to be on fire with divine love, if we are to set fire to others’ hearts. A lukewarm sermon is no use either to preacher or to hearer. On the other hand, one should not let one’s enthusiasm run away with one’s tongue! An overlong sermon will not be remembered, and will leave people bored: as St Ambrose says, ‘A boring sermon makes people cross.’ Too many rich words are like too much rich food, that upsets and sickens the stomach. The preacher should adapt his words to his hearers, keeping things simple for the uneducated, but offering something more to the learned. When dealing with the Gospels, it is good to bring in the Old Testament. It is particularly useful for those who desire a fuller knowledge of the Bible, but even just re-telling the stories will help to ‘colour in’ the picture. None of this is very original.

It is at this point that Guibert reviews the general rules of interpretation, and comments that moral preaching is more useful than purely doctrinal. Moral teaching needs to be repeated, because simple and uneducated people easily forget what they are told, and are more used to thinking about their material needs than their spiritual needs. One should explain vice as well as virtue, just as we need to know what foods to avoid as well as those that are wholesome. He then says that it seems to him that no preaching is more helpful than to show a man to himself, and confront him with his own portrait. He suggests that there are parts of the Gospels which are often applied to the Jewish people but which, if looked at carefully and studiously, apply much closer to home! This is in many ways similar to Antony’s approach, which is indebted to the tradition of monastic preaching; but it is probably going too far to claim a direct influence, let alone a major one. Lesnick himself notes that early Franciscan preaching was closer to the older models than to the newer, scholastic, methods.

Such methods were expounded in many ‘artes praedicandi’around this time, such as that of the Englishman, Thomas of Chobham, who was an almost exact contemporary of Antony, and had studied in Paris under Peter the Chanter, becoming sub-dean of Salisbury around 1208. During the 1220s he wrote his Summa de arte praedicandi to instruct the parish clergy in preparing sermons according to the norms of Lateran IV. All that needs to be said of this type of thing is that it is highly theoretical and highly analytic. Written with the same general purpose as Antony’s Opus Dominicale, and at almost exactly the same time, it comes from a different intellectual world. Antony sought to prepare preachers for their work, not by theorising, but by attempting to encapsulate his own practice.

A notable product of the Paris schools, whose sermons were undoubtedly known to Antony, was Pope Innocent III (1160-1216). Like Thomas of Chobham, he is said to have been in the ‘circle’ of Peter the Chanter, though probably only the ‘outer circle’. As part of his programme of reform, he issued a number of his own sermons as aids to preachers. He wrote:

The setting for Innocent’s preaching was the Papal Court itself. This is confirmed, for instance, by words of his in one of his sermons for Advent:

This can only have been preached to an audience familiar, having seen it often, with the minutiae of Papal ceremonial.

Migne’s Patrologia Latina contains around eighty of these Sermons, thirty-odd ‘De Tempore’, thirty-odd ‘De Sanctis’, and the rest for the Commons of Saints or for particular occasions. That Antony knew at least some of these sermons is certain: but did they have much influence on his own style as a preacher? If we want to answer this, perhaps we should compare their treatments of the same subject. A convenient choice will be their sermons on the Gospel of the Transfiguration. Innocent deals with this in his sermon for Ember Saturday in Lent, Antony in his first sermon for the second Sunday in Lent.

Innocent begins with his text (Matthew 17.1), and gives a reason for this incident. It was to fulfil the promise made in the preceding verse (Matthew 16.28), that some of those present would not taste death until they had seen the Son of Man coming in his kingdom. He then deals with an apparent ‘discordance’: Matthew says it was after six days that the Transfiguration happened, Luke that it was about eight days after. Both periods have the same meaning: ‘after six days’ suggests the sabbath rest, while the ‘eighth day’ suggests the ‘eighth age’, that of the resurrection (this a rather ‘Joachist’ touch). The contradiction is resolved by saying that Matthew counted only the days between, Luke counted the first and last days of the octave as well.

He then raises a ‘quaestio’: what kind of vision was this, spiritual only, or corporeal? He suggests reasons for the former view, then reasons for the latter opinion. He decides in favour of the latter, and solves the objections before returning to his original text. Having established the reality of the vision, he then emphasises the number and variety of witnesses to it: God, two prophets, and three Apostles; heaven and earth, paradise (Elias) and hell (Moses), past and present, etc. He makes another passing reference to the final tribulation, and to Antichrist. He then considers Peter’s remark about making three tabernacles, and explains why it was inappropriate but not blameworthy. He explains the significance of the Voice ‘from the cloud’, why the Apostles were terrified and fell down, and why when Jesus roused them they saw him alone.

So far- and this is already nearly two-thirds of the sermon- Innocent has been concerned with an exposition of the literal sense of the Gospel, what actually happened, and why. He then moves on to a more allegorical approach, prefacing his remarks with words that sound to me almost apologetic: ‘Brothers and sons, I know you like a literal exposition; but I think you will be even more pleased with a spiritual

exposition.’ He then quotes his text again, and explains that Peter, James and John stand for three classes of people in the Church, prelates, continents and married people. These classes are also represented by Noah, Daniel and Job, as referred to in Ezekiel (14.20), and by the ‘two in the field, two in bed and two at the mill’ of whom ‘one will be taken and one left’ (Matthew 34). There is no automatic salvation for any group in the Church: ‘It is not the place that sanctifies the man, but the man the place.’

In the final part of the sermon, Innocent relates the Transfiguration of Christ, ‘His face like the sun, his garments white as snow,’ to the nature of the resurrection. He distinguishes a ‘double robe’, the glory of the risen body and that of the spirit. The body, made of the four elements, will have four properties (claritas, subtilitas, agilitas, impassibilitas), like the properties of the sun, while the spirit will be glorified by cognitio, dilectio and delectatio, which he relates to the Father’s words, ‘Hear’, ‘Beloved’ and ‘well-pleased’. He concludes with a short exhortation: if we want to be clothed with glory, we must go up ‘de valle ad montem’, must seek the things that are above until, rising from virtue to virtue, we see the God of gods in Sion, through Christ, blessed for ever.

Antony’s Sermon is about twice as long as Innocent’s (and of course, it is not really a ‘sermon’), and begins in Antony’s usual way with a prologue addressed to preachers, in which he compares their calling with that of Moses receiving the Law on Sinai. The main sermon opens with Christ taking Peter, James and John up the mountain. Straightaway the disciples are allegorized, but given a moral interpretation. They stand for the acknowledgement of sins, the uprooting of vices, and perseverance in the grace of God. He then relates them to the three men whom Saul met at Tabor when he was on his way to sacrifice at Bethel (1Sam 10.3). In accordance with his usual procedure, he also relates the Gospel text to the story of Jacob (the Old Testament reading for the week), and in particular to Jacob’s dream of the ladder. Sleep is contemplation, and the ladder is Christ, whose moral virtues (humility, poverty, wisdom, mercy, patience and obedience) are the rungs. He exhorts his hearers to climb Tabor by means of this ladder.

In the second main part of the sermon, Antony considers the Transfiguration itself. He refers to the vision of God which Moses and the elders had on Sinai (Ex 24.9-10). Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abiu stand for religious, prelates, lesser clergy and married people; while the seventy elders are all the baptized. There is a digression on the sapphire pavement (Ex 24.10), relating it to Apostles, martyrs, confessors and virgins. There is another digression on the senses of sight, smell and taste (faith, discretion and contemplation), which are related to the properties of the sun (brightness, whiteness and heat). The garments of the soul are virtues, and remind us of the clothes which Rebecca prepared for Jacob.

The third section deals, fairly briefly, with Moses and Elijah, seen not so much as ‘Law’ and ‘Prophet’, but as types of meekness or mercy (Moses), and of zeal (Elijah). These in particular should be the virtues of a bishop. The final section is also brief. The bright cloud recall the cloud that overshadowed the Tabernacle (Ex 40), and this enables Antony to digress on the furnishings of the Tabernacle, the candlestick, the table, the ark and the altar, again given a moral application to the individual christian. The Father’s words provide only a final encouragement (like Elijah’s ‘gentle breeze’) to heed Christ. Like Innocent, Antony concludes with a wish (indeed, a formal prayer) to Christ that we may ascend ‘de valle ad montem’, to be imprinted with the form of the Passion rather than with glory, and with mercy and zeal. Then we will be able to hear Christ say, ‘Come, ye blessed of my Father.’

There are a number of Innocentian echoes in Antony: the three orders in the church, the properties of the sun, the garments of the soul, for instance; but they all seem slightly distorted echoes. Antony has an ecclesiological allegory (Moses and the elders), but it is different from Innocent’s (Peter, James and John). Antony knows of the Noah-Daniel-Job trio (it comes from Gregory); but he does not introduce it here. Again, he picks up the theme of the sun, but from a different point of view. One might wonder if Antony knew this particular sermon. He certainly did; he follows Innocent quite closely in what he has to say about the ‘double robe’ of glory, and about the properties of the glorified body; but he does not do so in this sermon, but in those for Septuagesima and for the fourth Sunday after Pentecost. The main difference is in interest and tone. Innocent is mainly concerned about the literal meaning of the Gospel, together with shorter ecclesiological and anagogic interpretations. Antony simply presupposes the literal sense, and is overwhelmingly concerned with (a) showing that it is foreshadowed in the Old Testament; and (b) applying it to the moral and spiritual life of the individual believer.

In conclusion, I would say that Antony was certainly influenced by Innocent; but in his preaching, he followed his own way. There is a wide difference in style between the Paris-trained, aristocratic statesman, and the Portuguese canon who became an itinerant evangelist. Antony found his real masters not in the school-room nor in the Curia, but in the library, in the manuscripts of Augustine, Gregory and Bernard, whose sermons in fact left a much deeper mark upon his own.

In his general prologue to the Opus Dominicale, Antony laments that,

These prologi consonantes vary considerably in length. Some (e.g. for Lent III) are just a short paragraph. Others (e.g. for Pentecost XX) extend to several pages. Antony also refers in the general prologue to a ‘table of themes’:

An examination of this tabula thematum gives us a ‘subtitle’ for each of the prologi; for instance, ‘a sermon for forming the heart of a sinner’, ‘a sermon for preachers’, ‘a sermon for preachers and prelates of the Church’, ‘the theme for a sermon on the three-fold temple’. In the first half of the work, the tabula speaks usually of a ‘sermon’ (sermo); in the second half, it also use the phrase ‘theme for a sermon’ (thema sermonis), as in the general prologue. This looser phrase suggests that Antony expected his readers to develop these ‘themes’ in their own way.

A large proportion of the prologi are addressed to ‘the preacher’ or to ‘the preacher or prelate of the Church’. In Antony’s time, the term ‘prelate’ had a wider meaning than it does today. As well as bishops and other higher clergy, it could include parish priests who, in virtue of their office, had pastoral authority over the people, and a duty to preach to them. Other priests (such as the friars) might have permission to preach, but they did not have the prelate’s canonical authority over the people. Antony’s use of the term suggests that he intended his work to be utilised not only by the friars, but by parochial clergy too (and even bishops).

The term ‘consonans’ applied to these prologi has an affinity with another term used frequently by Antony: ‘concordans’, which will be discussed in much greater detail in Chapter Five. It indicates that each prologue is in some way appropriate to the Gospel it is attached to, and in practice it means that each prologue begins with a text from the same book of the Bible as that used in the main body of the commentary to explain the Gospel.

In these prologues, then, Antony intended to give some preliminary advice to preachers regarding their work. In that sense, they embody his own theory of preaching. Can we, by examining them, determine what this theory was? In the first place, we notice that ‘theorizing’ (in the sense of abstract analysis, found in many ‘artes praedicandi’) was quite alien to Antony. What he offers is a series of images or analogies for the preacher’s task. Sometimes he uses these to instruct, sometimes to motivate the preacher.

In the very first prologue, for Septuagesima, Antony considers the text where Ezekiel is told to take a tile, and write or draw upon it ‘Jerusalem’. The preacher is like Ezekiel: he must take the ‘tile’ of the human heart, and inscribe upon it the City of God. Tiles are made by taking a piece of clay, flattening it out between boards, and baking it in an oven until it is hard and red. In the same way, the human clay has to be re-shaped and ‘broadened’ by charity, under the pressure of the two boards of the Old and New Testaments. It is hardened in the fire of tribulation, and becomes ‘red’ with zeal to serve God. ‘Jerusalem’ may be understood in three ways: as the Church on earth (allegory), as the soul itself (morality), and as the heavenly homeland (anagogy). In this way, the simple image of writing on a tile is ‘unpacked’, and important themes such as the role of the Scriptures and of suffering, in the sacramental, moral and ‘mystical’ dimensions of the christian life, are revealed. Related images recur: preaching is the ‘writing reed’ that inscribes God’s word upon the soul ; it is also the ‘book’ sweet in the mouth but bitter in the belly .

The images Antony employs may be grouped in several ways, and what follows is only a general summary. Even when images recur, they are often given a different slant by the context.

A biblical image that Antony in fact uses sparingly is that of the ‘sower’. The parable of the sower was the Gospel for Sexagesima, and Antony treats it at length; but in the prologue to that Gospel he takes a phrase from Isaiah, ‘Blessed are ye that sow upon the waters.’ These ‘waters’ represent the peoples of the earth, restless and unstable. Rivers originate in the sea, and return to it: humanity begins in the salt and bitter sea of original sin, and returns to the bitterness of death and the grave. In betweeen, the preacher casts upon them the seed of God’s word, Christ himself, and the Scriptures of the two Testaments. For Lent IV, he takes a similar phrase, ‘casting bread upon the waters’. He contrasts these waters with ‘the waters of Siloe’, the teachings of Christ, which the world rejects in favour of ‘Rasin and Phacee’, pride and lust.

Other agricultural imagery occurs. The preacher is a forester, clearing the beast-infested wilderness of the sinner’s heart, with the axe of Christ (iron head of divinity, and wooden haft of humanity). Then the ground can be cultivated and made fruitful. The preacher is like a farmer, tilling the soil of the soul with the hoe of preaching, yet dependent upon the early rains of grace to make the ground fruitful, and bring forth its harvest in the latter rains of glory. The role of the Spirit is often referred to: in this context, under the images of rain and dew.

This image is used in several ways. The preacher is ‘Israel’, fighting against the Philistines who represent sometimes the demonic forces of evil, which prey upon mankind, sometimes the rich and powerful of this world. Sometimes the preacher is ‘David’, going to battle with his staff (the Cross), five stones in a leather bag (the Old Testament in the context of the New), and a sling (an equal balance of words and example). Before attacking the enemy, the preacher ‘camps by the Stone of Help’, resting his mind upon Christ. The preacher is like the warrior Banaias, who went down into a pit in the time of snow, to kill a lion. The preacher must ‘go down’ from his own understanding of God, into the ‘frozen soul of the sinner’, to slay the lion of sin, or the devil. He is like Judas Maccabaeus putting on his armour.

Sometimes the preacher is represented as the herald who summons the army to battle by sounding the trumpet. Commenting on the text ‘Strengthen yourselves, sons of Benjamin, in the midst of Jerusalem, and sound the trumpet in Thecua, and set up the standard over Bethacarem’, Antony says:

Strengthen yourselves in the midst of Jerusalem, of the Church Militant in which is the ‘vision of peace’, the reconciliation of sinners. In the midst, yes, because at the heart of the Church is charity, which extends to friend and foe alike. The preacher must strengthen the faithful of the Church to hold on to that ‘midst’. In Thecua (in those who, when they do anything, blow a trumpet before them like the hypocrites...) sound the trumpet of preaching... And over Bethacarem, the sterile house of those dried up of the moisture of grace... set up the standard of the Cross, preach the Passion of the Son of God.

The trumpet of preaching summons to battle, but also to banqueting and festivity. The preacher is the herald of good tidings, who must get up on a high mountain: that is, his own life must be exemplary. He is also at times a chastiser, rebuking the sinner, pricking him with goads that will draw forth the blood of compunction. Peter, in his vision of the sheet full of unclean animals, was told to ‘Rise, kill and eat’. The preacher must stir himself to kill the beasts of lust, wrath, avarice and pride, and bring sinners back into the living Body of the Church.

The preacher is like a mason, who, with the trowel of preaching, joins together the living stones of the Church with the mortar of God’s word. He is a musician, like David playing on his harp to sooth the tormented spirit of Saul, preaching being ‘like a concert of music in a banquet of wine’, and sometimes sad, sometimes joyful. Sometimes he is the instrument which is played upon by God’s Spirit. Sometimes the preacher himself is a product of craftsmanship. He is like the doors of Solomon’s Temple, or the bases of its pillars, intricately carved with symbols of angelic knowledge, victory, and good example. Elsewhere, he himself decorates and furnishes the temple of the Church with virtuous souls. In another prologue, the preacher is a blacksmith, shaping souls upon the anvil of God’s word, with a keen eye for the required design, and skilful in tempering the metal by coating it with the virtues and Passion of Christ, so that it will not rust.

This image recurs, in a variety of ways. There is Samuel with his (four-sided) vial of oil, anointing Saul, whose name Antony interprets as ‘abuser’, and represents as the sinner. The preacher must take his ‘four-sided vial’ (the Gospels) and pour oil upon the sinner’s mind. Oil is used for healing, for strengthening, and for giving light. Antony says to the preacher, in effect, ‘Picture yourself as Samuel, anointing Saul to heal his wounds, strengthen his body and enlighten his mind.’. The image is repeated with Zadok and Nathan anointing Solomon. On Palm Sunday, he speaks of the ‘balm of Galaad’. Galaad (the ‘mound of witness’) represents the Cross, and balm is the resin (the ‘tears’) of a tree, the Blood of Christ which flows from the Cross for healing. The terebinth tree occurs also in the prologue for Pentecost II, with the same significance. Elsewhere, the balm represents the penitent’s own tears of compunction. In an extended image, Antony represents the preacher as an ‘apothecary’, mixing up ingredients to make healing ointments. The myrrh of penitence, the storax of contrition, the galbanum of confession, the onycha of satisfaction, are pounded in the mortar of the sinner’s heart with the pestle of preaching. The wine of Christ’s Blood and the oil of the Holy Spirit are also part of the recipe. God’s word brings healing to the soul.

The wise teacher.

This may be ‘Moses on the mountain’, receiving the two tables. The ‘mountain’ is the preachers own life; he should leave the valley of sin, and mount higher, if he is to receive God’s teaching and be fit to teach others. The ‘wise teacher’ is also David, sitting in his chair. ‘Sitting’ implies lowering oneself, an image of humility.

 The ‘woodworm’.

An amusing image is the ‘woodworm’ to which David is likened, in a corrupt reading of 2 Sam (Kg) 23.8: ‘David, sitting in the chair was the wisest chief among the three: he was like the most tender little worm of the wood; who killed eight hundred men at one onset.’ The preacher must gnaw away at the ‘hard wood’ of the obstinate sinner’s heart, though he himself must have a ‘soft body’, to bear insults gently. We may be grateful to the mis-reading of the Vulgate for such a charming analogy, which we would never have derived from the real meaning: ‘David’s champions: Ishbaal the Hachmorite, leader of the three; it was he who wielded his battle-axe against eight hundred whom he killed at one time.’

All such image are cumulative. The preacher’s mission is many-sided. He is a warrior against the powers of darkness, which afflict both the Church community and the individual soul. He is also a healer of the soul’s sickness, and must know how to concoct medicine as well as how to apply it. He needs the skill of a craftsman, and the hard-work of a farmer. Antony (at any rate in these prologues) seems more concerned to help the preacher to see himself and his work in a certain kind of way, than to give him detailed instruction on how to carry it out. This method of parable and analogy is itself, of course, very ‘biblical’, very ‘evangelical’. It is the way Christ himself taught, and it sets Antony apart from many others who wanted to aid preachers in their work. It is not ‘intellectual’, it aims to evoke in the preacher an ‘insight’ into his vocation. As we shall see, this approach is followed, but developed much more elaborately, in the main part of Antony’s work on the Gospels, where he aims to provide the preacher with material for preaching.

Copyright in this dissertation belongs to the author, S.R.P.Spuilsbury