6.1 Antony remembered: sermons on the saint.

After the death and canonization of Antony, it was natural that sermons should be preached in his honour on his Feast Day and other occasions. Over fifty such sermons have been published, drawn mainly from manuscripts in Padua and Assisi. It is highly probable that many more sermons remain to be found, and that there were many others preached which have not survived. However, the sample available is quite large enough to enable some conclusions to be drawn about the way Antony was remembered in the century following his death.

The earliest sermons available have been published twice: they are the three Antonian sermons of Jean de la Rochelle, one of the first two Franciscan Masters at Paris, with Alexander of Hales. He died on Feb 8th, 1245, and so the three sermons must have been delivered at the latest in 1242, 1243 and 1244, and possibly earlier. He makes extensive use of the Vita Secunda, the revision of the Assidua made by Julian of Spires; and this can hardly have been available earlier than the late 1230s. However, much of this use is allusive, and he evidently assumes that his audience will be well-acquainted with the details of Antony’s life. He does not appear to make any use of Antony’s own writings. In the first sermon he starts from the text of Ecclesiasticus [50.6-7]: ‘He shone in his days as the morning star in the midst of a cloud, and as the moon at the full; and as the sun when it shineth, so did he shine in the temple of God’. He develops the ‘cloud’ as an image of Antony’s earthly life, marked by trials and temptations; the ‘moon’ as a symbol of Antony’s teaching; the ‘temple’ as the Church illuminated by his life and teaching. In the second sermon, he takes the next verse [Ecclus 50.8]: ‘As the rainbow giving light in the bright clouds, and as the flower of roses in the days of the spring, and as the lilies that are on the brink of the water’. The rainbow is interpreted as an image of Antony’s doctrine and preaching, and the symbolism is developed with reference to the physics of light as it was then understood. The rose and the lily symbolise his patience and his purity. The latter half of the verse, relating to incense and fire, are promised for treatment on another occasion. However, the third sermon takes its text from Luke 6.40: ‘Every one shall be perfect if he is like his master’. Antony is presented as a disciple of Christ, and also of Francis. Jean de la Rochelle may perhaps have heard Antony himself- he says in the second sermon, ‘Whence we have not heard in our days so sweet a consoler of the poor, nor so fierce a scourge of the rich.’ He makes much of Antony's profound knowledge of the Scriptures, alluding to the Pope’s reference to him as ‘Arca Testamenti’, but commends him also for his compassion, his desire for martyrdom, and his love of poverty. He says, ‘He had extreme poverty... this is the poverty of the Friars Minor, which he had and in which he persevered.’ At one point he gives him the title ‘doctor’, indicating his importance as a teacher of the faith; but the main stress is on Antony’s holiness, on his virtues as a Christian and a Franciscan. The sermons clearly indicate the great esteem in which Antony was held soon after his death.

A little later, we have five sermons by Fra Luca Lettore, a Paduan friar who died in 1269. Three of these are for the Feast of the Saint, the other two commemorate the translation and re-burial of his remains, which took place in 1263. His first text is Is 26.9: ‘My soul hath desired thee in the night: yea, and with my spirit within me in the morning early I will watch to thee’. Antony’s desire for Christ is illustrated by his conversion, progress, perfect contemplation, bodily discipline and glorification; the fulfilment of this desire is shown in his knowledge, love, contemplation, suffering and prayer. Whether Luca had known Antony we cannot be sure, but it is interesting that his own sermons show a preference for the same authorities as Antony’s: above all Augustine, Gregory and Bernard. Luca's second sermon-text is Ecclus 42.8: ‘Thou shalt be well instructed in all things and well approved in the sight of all men living.’ This is also related to Antony’s teaching and example, and to the honour given him by God and men. The third sermon begins from Ecclus 49.3-4: ‘He was directed by God unto the repentance of the nation: and he took away the abominations of wickedness. And he directed his heart towards the Lord’. This is applied to the effects of Antony’s great mission at Padua, to the general fruitfulness of his preaching, and to his own remembered characteristics of wisdom and kindness. The first sermon for the translation of Antony’s relics takes the text: ‘He pleased God and was beloved: and living among sinners he was translated’ [Wisd 4.10]; the second begins: ‘Blessed shall be thy relics’ [an adaptation of Dt 28.5]. Allusion is made to the reasons for giving greater honour to the Saint’s earthly remains, based on the example of his life. Luca too quotes Gregory IX’s evocation of Antony as ‘Ark of the Testament’.

Another preacher on St Antony was Conrad of Saxony. Born at Brunswick around 1210, he became a friar, a Master of Theology, and Minister Provincial of Saxony for several years. He died at Bologna on May 30th, 1279, on the way to the General Chapter at Assisi. His three sermons on St Antony centre on the holiness of Antony rather than on particular biographical details, to the extent that he speaks occasionally of ‘Antony, or any holy Doctor’, and in other sermons for the commons of saints he can say, simply, ‘See the sermon on St Antony’. He makes use of the Vita Secunda and the Rhyming Office, in order to present Antony's whole life as a model. In his first sermon, he presents Antony as a ‘wise man’, in his affections, speech, actions and contemplation. In the second, he presents him as a perfect imitator of Francis, having the varying perfections of the soldier, in the battle against temptation; the craftsman, in shaping his own actions; the traveller on life’s pilgrimage; the friend who loves truly; and the spouse whose modesty and beauty is shown in conversation. Each of these qualities is illustrated from Antony’s own life, and with quotations from the saints. The third sermon, on the text ‘No one lights a lamp and puts it under a bushel’, points out that Antony did ‘hide his light’ to begin with, being content to wash the dishes; he left it to God’s providence to manifest his abilities. By his humility, his light confounded demons, enlightened men, gave joy to the angels and glorified God. These points, too, are illustrated with examples drawn from the Vita Secunda. It is clear that by now Antony was generally regarded in the Order as the greatest of Francis’s followers, and that his life and teaching were held up as those of the ideal friar.

At the end of the century, two other friars, Servasanto of Faenza and his disciple Albertino of Verona, left sermons in honour of Antony. Those of Servasanto are highly polished, and aim to show Antony as an ideal friar, in contrast to Servasanto's own contemporaries. Beginning with Joseph’s words to his brothers: ‘Is this your little brother, of whom you told me?’ [Gen 43.29], he expounds Antony’s perfection in terms of his ardent love, his humility and his lasting fame. He explains ‘littleness’ in terms of readiness to learn, to obey, to love, to forgive and to receive. After treating each of these child-like qualities in an illuminating way, he then presents Antony as an example of it (using the Vita Secunda), and laments the lack of this quality in his contemporaries: ‘Sed hodie, nulla est caritas... Sed in mundo quis hodie parvulus?’ He recounts one story, not hitherto recorded, but which afterwards was current, of Antony predicting that the heart of a dead miser would be found, not in his body, but in his purse. In his second sermon, Servasanto presents Antony as possessing the wisdom of angels, patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors and virgins; once again expanding each, illustrating it from Antony’s life, and lamenting its absence nowadays: ‘Sed quis hodie Sanctum hunc sequitur?...Sed non sunt hodie tales nostri... Quis hodie hanc sapientiam quaerit? Quis hodie est patiens? etc.’ He follows Antony at one point in using the story of Dina to illustrate the dangers of gadding about.

The two sermons of Albertino are rougher and more like notes- for instance, he writes several times, ‘Narra hic quomodo...’ , with only a general reference, or, ‘Narra hic de miraculis eius, sicut tibi videtur’. He uses not only the Vita Secunda and the Rhyming Office to make his points, but seems to draw from other collections of stories about Antony, including possibly that of Rigauld. He presents Antony as a ‘just man’, loving justice in his heart (as to God), observing it in his actions (as to himself) and preaching it with his mouth (to his neighbour). He is ‘beatissimi Francisci filius’. He also compares Francis and Antony to David and Solomon, Antony being ‘beati patris Francisci filius sapientissimus’. He emphasises Antony’s scriptural learning, again quoting Pope Gregory’s words about ‘Arca Testamenti’. Thus at the end of the century Antony is still seen very much as a living example to later friars, close to the Founder’s ideal and unsullied by the later controversies that had arisen in the Order.

Most of the surviving sermons on St Antony are anonymous, and I shall survey them briefly. They are to be found in the libraries of Padua, and of Assisi and Rome. Fr Gamboso has written something about the dating and origin of the various manuscripts, and I refer the reader to his introductions to them. Those referred to appear all to be of the XIIIth and early XIVth centuries, thus falling roughly within the hundred years following Antony’s death.

In style, these sermons are very diverse. Some are very brief indeed; others, though longer, are still little more than outlines. Others, however, are highly polished works. Some are literary, others much more colloquial in their style. For example: ‘Ask a man, "what would you rather be, strong and stupid, or weak and wise?" He’ll say, "Weak and wise, of course."’ (sermon 17). Or: ‘If I were to go on, I’m afraid I’d bore you’ (sermon 39). Most exhibit a reasonably good knowledge of Antony's life, usually dependent upon the Vita Prima (‘Assidua’) or the Vita Secunda. The Rhyming Office of Julian of Spires is also quoted frequently: it seems to have been almost irresistible as a source of pithy summaries of aspects of Antony’s life and character. There are, however, few clear signs of acquaintance with Antony’s written works. I have found no direct quotation from the Sermones (as there is in the ‘Vita’ of Jean Rigauld), although in some authors there are strong echoes of Antony’s written style- Luca Lettore, already mentioned, is one such.

This poses a problem: how familiar were these preachers with the actual writings of Antony? Does the absence of explicit quotation indicate that they were not, in fact, known; or that convention forbade their use as auctoritates on a par with Augustine, Gregory and Bernard? Or is it merely that Antony’s writings do not lend themselves to that kind of quotation? Antony’s specific genius lay not in the field of speculative theology, so that his opinion might be cited on particular questions. His gift was an encyclopaedic knowledge of Scripture and certain Fathers (together with Natural History), from which he could select and organise examples so that they illuminated one another. By juxtaposing texts, he enabled them to speak for themselves. He rarely notices controverted points, and if he does so (as in the case of whether sins forgiven in confession ‘revive’ if the sinner relapses), he is content to state the alternatives, and leave it at that. Although there is much in Antony that is very quotable, it is not the kind of thing medieval preachers reckoned to quote. Antony was concerned to motivate his hearers to action, to evoke contrition and repentance; he was happy to base himself on Scripture and Tradition, and avoid theological speculation. It is, nevertheless, disappointing to find no explicit use of his Sermones by preachers who followed him. We are, of course, only looking at their sermons on St Antony (a topic on which Antony never preached!), and we might find quotations from him in their ordinary Sunday sermons (as, later, in Bernardine of Siena). Further research may produce examples.

Allowing for this, there still seem to be in the available material many indications, in the way Antony is presented by these preachers, that his work was known and appreciated. The impression he made upon them seems too deep to be the result only of reading the ‘Vitae’. For instance, in several cases Antony is presented as a familiar figure of recent memory. We have already seen Jean de la Rochelle’s reference to him. Another writer (sermon 44) refers to the time ‘when blessed Antony lived with us in the world’; another again (sermon 46) says that ‘among all the preachers of modern times’ Antony was more effective and more fervent. The translation of his remains in 1263 (when his tongue was found to be incorrupt) created a stir, and this event was ‘recent’ to several preachers (sermons 45,50), who comment on the number of friars and city dignitaries who witnessed it. This is in contrast to other sermons (e.g. sermon 30) which refer to Antony ‘in his time’, suggesting a certain remoteness from that of the preacher.

Regardless of his proximity or otherwise in time, Antony was seen as enormously important and influential in the development of the Franciscan Order. This may seem surprising today, because while St Francis was ‘rediscovered’ in non-Catholic circles in the nineteenth century, and has since become a fashionable patron for, say, animal welfare and ecology, Antony has remained a relatively obscure figure. When Sabatier likened him to Francis’s St Paul, he did not mean it as a compliment. However, in the century following his death, Antony was widely regarded in the Franciscan movement as second only to Francis, a ‘second foundation stone’. Albertino of Verona was not the only preacher who made him Solomon to Francis's David. He was (like the young Tobias) the ‘blessed son of a good and virtuous man’ (sermon 31). He was the ‘second angel, blowing the trumpet,’ after the first angel, Francis (sermon 48, cf. Apoc 8.8). He followed Francis in way of life, in gospel preaching, and in glory. He is Aaron to Francis’s Moses (sermon 46). One preacher begins, ‘The holy and immaculate religion of the Friars minor’ (‘religion’ here meaning, of course, ‘religious order’) ‘after the fashion of a good mother, rejoices over her children if they are apt for learned study, humble in the radiance of Scripture, and watchful for the good of souls. Seeing blessed Antony abundantly endowed with these qualities, and indeed feeling his absence with sorrow, desiring his presence with a cry, and bearing the influence of his grace in honour, says: Where is the learned? Where is he that pondereth the words of the Law? Where is the teacher of little ones? [Is 33.18]’ (sermon 36).

Antony is regularly presented as an example of the ‘wise man’ of Scripture, and as filled with Divine Wisdom. ‘Optavi, et datus est mihi sensus; et invocavi, et venit in me spiritus sapientiae’ [Wisd 7.7] is applied to him more than once. Antony’s study and learning is acknowledged, but his wisdom is far more than the product of the library: it is a gift of God. Sermon 29 contrasts the wisdom of the world, the flesh and the devil with that of God, which was sought by Antony. Sermon 39, beginning from the Introit for Doctors, ‘In medio Ecclesiae’, develops the ideas of Antony’s learning, wisdom and glory in relation to the irascible, rational and concupiscible appetites of medieval psychology, and gives them a Trinitarian application. Like Servasanto, the author distinguishes the wisdom of angels, patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs and confessors (but not virgins), as exemplified in ministers, travellers, watchmen, merchants, warriors and advocates, and applies them in various ways to Antony and the circumstances of his life. Sermon 42, on ‘Tu vero vigila’, says that ‘Blessed Antony was a member of the Church called to the office of teacher and evangelist’, and those who ‘watch’ include ‘students, that they may find’.

Whereas logicians, lawyers, scientists etc. study to find their own proper matter, Gospel men study to find Christ. The writer laments that, though many study, few are truly religious. He bids those who enter the schools to learn what instructs morals, rather than what sharpens the intellect in the way of sin. Antony studied with love, so as to retain what he sought. He laboured for the edification of his neighbour, not just by contemplation but by practical action.

Antony is presented as an evangelist- indeed, even as an apostle: the ‘Apostolus Paduanorum’ (sermon 21). His missionary work in Padua is well remembered. ‘Antony was given to the nations by the Lord. He was a word given to teach the ignorant, to lead back the strays, to comfort labourers and to help those who ask’ (sermon 37). He was the bringer of good news upon the mountains (sermon 22), whose ways were beautiful and peaceful (sermon 23). He is remembered as a reconciler, who brought many to repentance (sermon 49), so that there were not enough priests available to hear their confessions (sermon 49).

But above all, Antony is remembered as a master of the Scriptures. ‘He had a knowledge of the Scriptures which he sought ardently and with all desire’ (sermon 29). Time and again preachers refer to Gregory IX’s phrase, ‘Ark of the Testament’, seen as particularly significant not only ‘propter dignitatem imponentis’ but in its own right. The passage quoted above, from sermon 42, is typical. The theme of the ark is explored, and its contents (the tables of the Law, Aaron’s rod and the jar of manna) are applied to Antony’s knowledge of the two Testaments, his rebuking of sin, and his charity (cf sermons 16, 34, 52). Occasionally the ark of the covenant is linked with Noah’s ark, and with the chariot throne of Ezekiel, as Antony himself had linked them. The point is made that Antony's knowledge was not only the result of his personal study, but of divine illumination.

Although, as I have said, there are no direct quotations from Antony’s writng to be found, there are strong Antonian ‘echoes’ in several sermons, especially those of Fra Luca Lettore and the anonymous sermons 16, 25, 38, 39 and 63. There are a number of places where themes treated by Antony occur- the cedar, thorn, myrtle and olive trees; the lily, the rose and the vine; the pearl; Elisha’s little room, Solomon’s throne, the preacher’s (Antony’s) heart as a mortar in which the Holy Spirit blends spices, and so on. Antony’s ‘Quadriga’ is once turned around, so that sin is represented as a cart pulled by four beasts representing pride, avarice, lust and wrath. Occasionally, an Antonian trick of style surfaces: the phrase, ‘Dicamus ergo’, for instance (sermons 28, 38). Terms based on concordare are almost non-existent, and when they do occur are not in relation to Scripture: one writer uses concordia in reference to Antony’s work as a peacemaker (sermon 55), another says, ‘He spoke of Holy Scripture, and his life was concordant (concordabat) to his teaching’ (sermon 25). If anything, this absence (in any context) points up the distinctiveness of the term in Antony. However, one writer seems to make a tantalisingly elusive reference to the notion (sermon 43). He refers to Antony’s spiritual senses (sight, hearing etc), which enabled him to see and understand the prophets, to hear and perceive ‘harmonies’. ‘He revealed hidden things, and dissolved the mysteries of the Scriptures’. ‘There was given, moreover, to the beloved confessor the most attentive sense of hearing, to the perception of intellectual harmonies (armonicarum intellectionum)’. At the least, this suggests that the writer was acquainted with the character of Antony's approach to Scripture. He is also the only writer I have found who seems to quote Antony directly (unfortunately, I have been unable to find the source):

This note of personal affection (‘almus confessor’) is found in more than one writer.

Two other sermons have been edited by Fr Gamboso, from about a century after Antony’s death. Neither adds any new features to those we have already seen. One is by the Franciscan cardinal, Bertrand de Turre, who died in 1332; the other is by Pope Benedict XII (Jacques Fournier) who was a Cistercian, and had been bishop of two dioceses south of Toulouse, before becoming Pope at Avignon (1342). He had therefore lived in areas influenced by Antony’s preaching ministry. His sermon is long and learned (fourteen chapters), with a few references to Antony’s life, but mainly dealing with the theme of wisdom. These sermons at least bear witness to the veneration and esteem in which Antony was held, not only among ordinary people, but in the highest levels of the Church.

The only other sermon known to me from this period is that ascribed to St Bonaventure. This is found in at least three mss., two from the thirteenth century, and the Quaracchi editors claim that it agrees with other genuine works of the saint. It is on the text, ‘Iste pauper clamavit, et Dominus exaudivit eum’ (Ps 33.7), and its main emphasis is on the poverty of Antony. He ‘cried out’ in his preaching, his confession, his prayer and his exultation. The sermon, whether or not by Bonaventure, is in fact a fairly typical example of a sermon on Antony from this time.

Almost as Antony died, Alexander of Hales and Jean de la Rochelle joined the Franciscan Order, giving it its first Masters of Theology at Paris. In a sense, this marks a turning-point in the development of the Order, whose intellectual tradition for the rest of the century and beyond was to be dominated by Paris and Oxford. This was perceived by many in the Order (especially by those who still cherished the primitive simplicity of Francis’s original vision) as a betrayal. It is said that Francis’s companion, brother Leo, lamented, ‘Ah, Paris! You are destroying the Order of St Francis!’ It was from this circle that the ‘Fioretti’, the ‘Little Flowers of St Francis’, emerged, and it may be significant that in a work dedicated to perpetuating what was believed by the ‘Spirituals’ to be the true Franciscanism, there are two stories celebrating the ministry of St Antony. Antony (as we saw in the previous section) was widely seen as Francis’s ‘eldest son’, a man who married true learning with gospel poverty, unlike some others who had come afterwards. Antony was regarded as singularly free of the ‘contamination’ of Paris; and it may be that in return the Parisian and Oxonian friars tended to underestimate what Antony had in fact achieved. When we look at the theological and biblical works of the great Franciscan masters (as opposed to some of their devotional preaching- cf. Jean de la Rochelle, above) it is difficult to detect any Antonian influence, or any acknowledgement of him as a predecessor.

It is more than likely that Alexander of Hales had no acquaintance with Antony's writings. By the time he entered the Order, he had already achieved his position as a theologian. He gives a clear statement of his understanding of the ‘four senses’, distancing himself somewhat from the Victorine position; his teaching is very like Antony's, but there is little likelihood that either knew the other's work. The same goes for Jean de la Rochelle, even though we know he had a great regard for Antony as a friar and as a preacher. It is not until the next generation of friars that there is anything (as far as I have found) that might show a continuing Antonian influence.

A work formerly attributed to Antony himself, but now thought to be by an unknown friar of the mid thirteenth century, is the so-called Concordantiae morales sacrorum bibliorum. It is in five books and 567 sections, and gives appropriate texts for preaching on various moral topics. It was translated into English by J.M.Neale in 1856. The author may well have drawn on Antony’s Sermones in his selection of texts; but at any rate the work provides evidence of the continuing association of Antony’s name with the idea of ‘concordantiae’ in the sense of particular texts. Whether we should see any Antonian influence in the choice of the term ‘concordantiae’ for the Biblical indexes produced in Paris by the Dominicans must remain highly doubtful.

Among the works attributed to St. Bonaventure, in the Quarracchi edition of his works, is one called Ars Concionandi . Although there is doubt about its authenticity, it has been argued strongly by Harry Hazel that it is closely linked in thought with the Reductio Artium ad Theologiam. The term concionare seems to have been favoured by Franciscans in reference to popular preaching, and the author, speaking of various ways of ‘expanding’ Scripture (dilatatio), follows Augustine (and Cicero) in making the aim utilitas. Among the ways of expanding Scripture in a useful way, he includes:

Although this is only one of many methods of dilatatio, and although there is no mention of any earlier authority for this method, it does seem quite close to Antony's method of concordantia. In view of the rarity of the term, I am inclined to think that we do have here an Antonian legacy. A ‘concordance’ in the contemporary sense of a Biblical index is only concerned with verbal agreement; while for Antony and the author of the Ars concionandi this is only one basis for ‘concordance’.

Whether or not the Ars concionandi is by Bonaventure himself, can we detect any Antonian influence in the certainly Bonaventuran works? It must be admitted straight away that Bonaventure does not cite Antony’s writings, or utilise the term concordantia. His only explicit references to Antony are in the two Legendae on St Francis, and in the sermon referred to in the previous section. However, we may approach the question less directly. Etienne Gilson and, more recently, Professor Cousins have noted the extensive use made by Bonaventure of symbolism and imagery. In reference to Bonaventure’s ‘logic’, Gilson says:

Elsewhere, he remarks that Bonaventure has no rival in the art of inventing proportions and analogies, until his later treatises practically consist of them. In relation to Scripture in particular, he goes on, ‘the sowing of the Scriptures can produce an infinite harvest of theories,’ as seeds can be multiplied to infinity.

The similarities to Antony’s treatment of Scripture are obvious. Professor Cousins has discussed the way in which Bonaventure developed the Augustinian tradition, and to some extent distanced himself from the growing Aristotelianism which was coming to dominate the Parisian schools. He says,

It is fundamental to Bonaventure’s theological approach, he says, that the truths of faith are not so much deduced by logical argument (not even from Scripture), but somehow ‘perceived’ in both the Book of Scripture and the Book of Creation. This is not the place to embark on a detailed discussion of Bonaventure; however, I would suggest that if writers such as Gilson and Cousins are correct in identifying such a feature in his theological method, then it is legitimate to ask whether, or to what extent, it owes anything to Antony. Neither Gilson nor Cousins show any awareness of Antony’s Sermones, but what they say of Bonaventure must surely remind us of the method that is so marked in them. We must be very cautious; although Bonaventure clearly revered Antony, and although (as Minister General) he might be expected to have some acquaintance with Antony’s writings, this hardly establishes any certain dependence. Bonaventure, especially in his later writings, was concerned to integrate the insights of Francis himself with the theological tradition he had inherited. Antony (in Francis's own lifetime and immediately after his death) was attempting to do the same. This may be a sufficient reason for the similarities of approach. In his Reductio artium in theologiam [Op Om V, 321] Bonaventure distinguishes faith, morals and the end of both. Augustine, followed by Anselm, is the master of the first; Gregory, followed by Bernard, of the second. We have noted Antony’s heavy dependence on three of these four. However, the master of the third way is Dionysius, followed by Richard; and Dionysius was transmitted to Bonaventure notably by the work of Thomas Gallus. But though Thomas was Antony’s friend in his latter years, we have already suggested that the Dionysian (and even Ricardian) influence on Antony was marginal. Thus there is an important difference between Antony and Bonaventure in this regard. However, if we admit that Antony was already attempting to develop a specifically ‘Franciscan’ method, then it may not be illegitimate to read him at least to some extent in the light of later, Bonaventurian, developments. If so, then the Antonian concordantia will be far more than a mnemonic device to help preachers organise their material, but will be intended as an expression of a real feature of the Scriptures themselves, and of the created world. Further discussion of this subject, though tempting, would take us much too far from our present concern. As Antony would say, redeamus ad materiam.

In searching for instances of the word ‘concordantia’, I found little either before or after Antony, with one massive exception. Under Ramon Llull, there are over two thousand references to concordantia. Llull was a Majorcan, born in 1232, and eventually a Franciscan tertiary, who spent some time studying at Montpelier, where Antony is said to have been the first lector in theology. He was mightily concerned with the means of bringing the Gospel to the Muslim world, and founded a missionary college to further this work. Among his enormous output of works there is one, the Liber de praedicatione, to which is annexed a series of specimen sermons. It is a difficult work to follow, since it seems to have been Llull’s aim to reduce the construction of sermons almost to a mechanical process. Overall, it is extremely un-Antonian. But the use of the unusual term (in this context), in the form Antony uses it, does suggest some possible connection. Speaking of various ‘principles’ of his system (which include bonitas, magnitudo, aeternitas, potestas, sapientia, voluntas, virtus, veritas, gloria, differentia, concordantia, contrarietas, principium, medium, finis, maioritas, aequalitas and minoritas), he defines concordantia like this:

Llull goes on to explain how each of his ‘principles’ combines with each of the others. For instance,

It would be tedious to pursue this at any length. In the actual sermons, he occasionally uses concordare, but never concordantia, and in any case this is not in reference to scriptural agreement. Sin, for instance, is ‘concordant’ with darkness, and virtue with light. Again, ‘when the memory is consentient to and concordant with the understanding, and remembers God, paradise, and the transitory and fallen life of this world, then the will is wonderfully afflicted, and consents with the understanding and memory, and is concordant. If Llull is evidence of any Antonian legacy in Montpelier, it is only in respect of terminology. There is no real ‘concordance’ of approach!

The Editors of the Critical Edition note that around 1282/4, Roger Marston briefly quotes twice from Antony’s Sermones in his Quodlibeta. Here is evidence of some continuing use of Antony by theologians, but it is rather meagre. More promising in this regard is Jean Rigauld (bishop of Trégnier 1317, d. 1323), whom we have already met as the author of a ‘Vita’ of Antony. Rigauld was a prolific preacher, and J.B. Schneyer lists 280 sermons by him. These are all based on either the Epistles or the Gospels for the Sundays of the year (sometimes with more than one sermon on a particular reading). Although the Repertorium gives only the incipits for these semons, even so a few interesting points are noticeable.

1) Rigauld frequently begins with an instruction to the preacher, or a reflection on the purpose of preaching.

2) Rigauld appears to divide the Gospels into clausulae (eg: ultima clausula verbi propositi serviet nobis pro sermonis ingressu [112.T21]; Pro ingressu ad sermonem accipiemus primam verbi clausulam [122.T21/6].

3) Rigauld uses the term concordat with respect to agreement between Gospel and Epistle or Old Testament reading (eg: concordat lectio cum epistola [89.T19/4; Evangelium cum epistola concordat [115. T21/2]; Evangelium hodiernum cum epistola quantum ad praeceptum de honore parentum plene concordat [119. T21/4] Evangelium hodiernum cum epistola concordat [123. T21/6]; Epistola et evangelium hodiernum conveniunt et concordant [125. T21/sab]; Evangelium hodiernum concordat cum epistola [139. T22/sab]; Evangelium hodiernum concordat cum epistola hodierna [198. T36]; and, very similar: Epistola et evangelium conveniunt sicut duae consonae tubae [184. T30])

The sermons of Rigauld are to be found in ms. Vat.lat.957; I do not know whether they have been edited and published. It would be very interesting to discover whether or not in the body of his sermons Rigauld displays further Antonian characteristics, and further research in this area would be very welcome.

At the end of the century, John Duns Scotus discussed the sufficiency of sacred Scripture for the knowledge necessary for man in this life. He noted that among heretics who reject Scripture in whole or in part there are the Manichees, who say that the Old Testament derives from the evil principle. He specifically cites Augustine, de haeresibus 46, for this. Among a number of ways of countering these various heretical views he includes scripturarum concordia. He argues that people do not agree about matters which are not self-evident or derivable from self-evident principles, unless they are influenced by a cause superior to the intellect itself: non consonant multi... nisi a causa superiori ipso intellectu inclinentur ad assensum. Yet the writers of the sacred Canon, coming from various backgrounds and at various times, entirely agree about matters not evident in themselves: in talibus inevidentibus consonabant omnino. He cites Augustine, De civitate Dei, XVIII c41: ‘Our authors had to be few in number, to prevent cheapening by over-production... and yet not so few that there should be nothing remarkable in their agreement. For among the multitude of the philosophers... one would have difficulty in finding any group whose opinions agreed in every particular.’ Since theology deals with matters on which natural reason can give no certainty, the agreement of so many must arise from Divine revelation. In the Scriptures, it is not just a case of later writers following earlier, but of independent authors displaying a wonderful harmony.

Scotus does not refer explicitly or implicitly to Antony, and there is no evidence that he knew his work. Later, Bernardine of Siena refers to this passage of Scotus in one of his sermons and to the same passage from Augustine. He adds that Augustine likens ‘concordance’ to the light of the same sun shining through different windows, although this does not seem to be in the passage adduced, and I cannot find where Bernardine gets it from, though it is a vivid and helpful image. Bernardine does occasionally quote Antony, though unfortunately from works no longer regarded as authentic. The most one can say, then, is that Bernardine was prepared to use Antony as an ‘authority’ at times. It may well be that there are references to Antony still to be discovered in the writings of preachers and theologians of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. At the moment, it appears that though his popularity as a heavenly patron and wonder-worker grew and grew, the memory of his work as a biblical scholar and preacher was almost entirely eclipsed.

What was the reason for the neglect of Antony as a Biblical theologian and guide to the art of preaching, in the centuries following his death, even as his popularity as a ‘wonder worker’ and heavenly patron increased? We have already noticed that, in his own day, some of the Paris-trained higher clergy found it difficult to categorize him. Although they recognised the fact of his achievement, they could not altogether understand it. He was, to an extent, an ‘outsider’ to the Establishment that took the modern advances in biblical studies and in techniques of preaching for granted. So we find that sermons preached in his honour tend to emphasise the heavenly wisdom and inspiration that he had received, rather than the book-learning that he undoubtedly possessed. His holiness was celebrated, while his actual writings were rarely referred to.

The twelfth, and even more the thirteenth, century saw a theological renaissance occasioned at least in part by the rediscovery of Aristotle. First the logic and then the metaphysics of the ‘maestro di color che sanno’ informed the method and the content of scholastic theology. Alexander of Hales, Albert the Great, Bonaventure, Thomas Aquinas and John Duns Scotus are only the greatest names (all associated with the University of Paris), whose Commentaries and Summas marked the high-water mark of medieval theology, and which to a greater or lesser extent depended directly or through the Arabs on Aristotle's philosophy. Aristotle laid the foundations both of modern logic, and of modern empirical science; and the scholastics brought much of this approach to the study of theology. Revelation (expressed in Scripture, taken according to its literal sense as discovered by scholarship) provided the data, and the methods of syllogistic logic enabled theological conclusions to be drawn from it. Theology was truly ‘the Queen of the sciences’, divinely revealed truth expounded by human reason.

As science and logic have advanced, however, we have seen Theology dethroned, and both the methods and the conclusions of medieval scholasticism called into question. The enterprise that began with such hope in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries seems at last to have run into the sand. But we are beginning to hear voices suggesting a different approach to theology, and it may be at this point that Antony again has something to teach us. I would like to pick up some ideas expressed by two recent writers in particular, and to see if they can be brought into dialogue with the Antonian method I have tried to outline in the previous chapter.

The first of these writers is Professor John Tinsley (later Bishop of Bristol). Tinsley was very concerned about the relationship between theology and the arts, and he attempted to diagnose the causes of the modern crisis in theology. He speaks of ‘a real crisis in both theology and literature at the present time, centred on the status and role of metaphor in human thought and sensibility.’ He claims that

Elsewhere he says:

He warns against ‘poetic images and metaphors being used... as premisses upon which some scheme of logical reasoning can be erected.’ I have suggested that this is precisely the error in which the approach to theology (sometimes called ‘scholasticism’) which achieved so much in the thirteenth century ended up, making it virtually unsustainable today. Tinsley looks for an alternative:

He sees the basis for such an approach in the parabolic method of Jesus himself: In many cases the parables of Jesus are subtle, elusive, ironic and allegorical- indirect presentations of the meaning he attached to his times and his own task. He realises that the introduction of the term ‘allegorical’ is problematic; he elsewhere criticised what he understood of some medieval allegorization as ‘fantastic and uncontrolled... whereby any philosophy, any political theory, and any scheme of ethics could be read into any text.’ Yet this abuse should not prevent recognition of the legitimate uses of allegory. In discussing the Gospel of Mark, Tinsley says:

I suggest that this analysis, with its mention of moral preparedness, Old Testament imagery, and pervasive allegory, could also serve as a description of Antony's method in the Sermones. What are the concordantiae but the juxtaposition of Old Testament images and Gospel pericopes, so as to give an allegorical representation of moral principles to be acted upon?

Tinsley attempts to distinguish and relate such terms as ‘allegory, ‘parable’, ‘symbol’ and ‘metaphor’. Each involves a transference of meaning. He follows I.A. Richards in speaking of the ‘tenor’ (the general abstract idea to be conveyed) and the ‘vehicle’, which may be a single image, an extended image, a narrative, an historical episode, etc. ‘Inferior allegory’ is a kind of extended simile, in which everything is deliberately labelled. A writer starts with his theme or ‘tenor’, and consciously searches for a ‘vehicle’ to convey it, thus producing a certain artificiality. But (says Tinsley) the best allegory is rather an extended metaphor, in which the ‘tenor’ and the ‘vehicle’ arrive together in the mind of the author. He elsewhere points out that

It is this simultaneity that enables allegory to express insights which cannot (or at any rate cannot easily and completely) be expressed in a series of logically articulated propositions. Tinsley's interests were primarily Biblical and literary, and he does not seem to have had a wide knowledge of medieval theology, yet he goes far to rehabilitate the basis of medieval allegorism. He has fun at the expense of those who ‘find it comical that in the Middle Ages it was thought that words could be used in no less than four senses.’ This, he says, ‘may be self-evident to the biblical critic, but the literary critic would be surprsised if there were no more than four!’

An allegorical story may not be a real event, but Tinsley implies that it too serves to illuminate and give significance to the present situation. The multiplicity of reference which is characteristic of metaphor offers a way of expressing the inexpressible which the linear logic of a syllogism does not.

The second writer I want to consider is Ross Thompson, in his interesting (but sometimes difficult) book, ‘Holy Ground: The Spirituality of Matter’. He too is concerned with the difference between ‘scientific’ and ‘religious’ language. He discusses the way in which we ‘discover’ patterns in reality, and do not simply impose them. We may perceive similarities of pattern in material which is in other respects very dissimilar. He uses the terminology of mathematics, whereby one set of elements may be ‘mapped’ onto another (or onto itself). If there is both a one-to-one correspondence of elements, and if also relationships between elements are preserved, we call the mapping an ‘isomorphism’. He coins the term ‘interillumination’ to describe the process of pattern recognition which is like isomorphism, but which supplies, rather than relies on, an analysis of patterns. He invokes Wittgenstein's notion of ‘seeing as’: we see one thing ‘as’ another, a cloud as a face, for instance. In discovering patterns, we suppress or ignore some features of experience, in order to give prominence to others. However, while science may regard the features ignored as strictly irrelevant to the model being constructed, when we allow two patterns to interilluminate one another we do not entirely suppress the features not seen as immediately relevant, but allow them to remain present and capable of suggesting further patterns, or modifications to patterns. Metaphor arises when we use the terms proper to one context to ‘interilluminate’ another context to which they do not literally apply (as when we speak of ‘the teeth of the wind’).

After an extended discussion of the way scientific models are used (and science uses metaphors abundantly: ‘waves’ and ‘particles’ in atomic theory, for instance, are mathematical constructs, not at all as we ‘really’ imagine them), Thompson draws a distinction betwen such models and ‘images’ which express truths that cannot be quantified and expressed mathematically as are the truths of science. Yet there can still be an ‘interillumination’ betwen the image and the universe at large. Images can be ‘true’ or ‘valid’, depending on whether they rightly capture reality, rather than distorting or misrepresenting it. He says:

Images must not be confused with models; but though they do not depict reality in a scientific way, that is not to say that they do not convey reality at all. They contain truth (or, it may be, falsehood), and not merely opinion or ‘personal validity’. But how may this be shown? Thompson continues:

Another way is the fundamentalist treatment of religious symbols as if they were literally true. Both the reductionist and the fundamentalist fail to accept symbolism on its own terms. He goes on:

Thompson, like Tinsley, makes use of I.A.Richards terminology of ‘tenor’ and ‘vehicle’ to explain metaphor. Both science with its models, and art with its images, rely on ‘interilluminations’ which link together diverse streams of experience to act as analogies. However, models rely on clearly defined terms and categories, while metaphors do not.

Thompson uses a phrase from Rilke: we are ‘bees of the invisible’, wringing the honey of the transcendent from the flowers of matter. Here certainly is an image and metaphor that cannot easily be translated into simple, literal language- and yet what an illuminating image it is, and how one feels Antony would have appreciated it!

Thompson uses the ‘bee’ image again, taking a passage from Samuel Becket’s ‘Molloy’:

Since multiple reference is of the essence of metaphor, I do not think I do any violence to Thompson’s argument by applying this image to the ancient approach to Scripture. Medieval exegetes ‘danced’ at three or four levels (literal, allegorical, moral, and sometimes anagogical), while modern exegetes seem to dance only at one. Neither the literalism of the reductionist nor that of the fundamentalist enables us to penetrate the whole truth intended by the Divine Author. Somehow, the images of Scripture must be allowed to illuminate, or ‘interilluminate’, realities which are not expressible by us in simple propositional form.

Within this context, I would like to suggest that Antony’s method of ‘concordance’ is an instance of ‘interillumination’. Antony juxtaposes the liturgical readings, identifying elements in each and the relationships between them, in order to exhibit similar patterns, and to allow each one to shed light on the other. The stories become ‘vehicles’ for theological or moral teaching, not adduced to ‘prove’ or ‘argue’, but to exemplify and to show. In an age that was beginning to prize dialectic and demonstration, Antony was allusive and indirect. He offered images in a non-prescriptive way, often himself suggesting alternative ways of looking at them. He invited his readers to enter into their own dialogue with the Scriptures, to look and to see for themselves. In a later age, when the limitations of linear logic are beginning to appear, Antony’s approach may seem, once again, an attractive one.

The copyright in this Dissertation belongs to the author, S.R.P. Spilsbury