Lessons from St. Antony

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Having just finished The Life of Saint Antony by St. Athanasius, I can’t decide how useful it is.

St. Antony, also known as St. Anthony of the Desert or Anthony the Great, is credited as the founder of monasticism. He lived in Egypt in the fourth century and came from a wealthy family. When he was about 20, his parents died, leaving him to care for a younger sister. One day, after hearing the Gospel reading of Matthew 19: 21, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasures in heaven,” he gave away the family lands, placed his sister in a convent, and began to live as a hermit. After some time he removed himself to a cave in the desert, where he lived enclosed for 20 years, subsisting on bread that his friends brought him twice a year. When he emerged, he became known for his wisdom and powers of healing, though he always told those who were healed to thank God, not him.

Antony had numerous followers, many of whom moved out to the desert and formed communities. St. Athanasius, the 20th pope of Alexandria, met Antony and wrote his biography. The book, which runs about 50 pages, goes into quite a bit of detail about the monk’s struggles with demons, which I skimmed past in search of something that might apply to my everyday life. One of the stories brought me up short because of its echoes to a recent current event: the emperor and his sons wrote to Antony asking for a response, and in his reply he “encouraged them to be merciful, just and attentive to the poor.”

I find it worthy of note that Antony was considered unlearned; when some Greek philosophers visited him, he asked through an interpreter, “Why have you troubled yourselves to visit a foolish man?”

It wasn’t false modesty on his part; he apparently was illiterate. This is quite a change from the Church Fathers I normally study, who could read, write, debate the issues of the day and often were multilingual. Athanasius, for example, is said to have had an excellent secular education and knew both Greek and Coptic.

Another interesting fact about Antony is that he was not a cleric; again, this sets him apart from most of the Church Fathers, who were primarily priests or bishops. On the other hand, his lack of education and non-clerical status give him a lot in common with the female Doctors of the Church, none of whom received formal theological training. Now that I think about it, I might see if I can find any scholars who compare Antony’s spirituality with that of Teresa of Ávila, Catherine of Siena, Therese of Lisieux or Hildegard of Bingen.

Much of Antony’s advice is about dealing with the devil, so at first I dismissed it, but on reflection I realized that if I substituted “temptation” for “devil” the counsel is sound. For example, when the devil reminded him of the pleasures of an easy life, Antony “meditated on the torment of hell and the promise of heaven, emerging victorious from each trial,” his biography states. It’s easy for me to be enticed by the pleasures of this world, so next time that happens I might turn my thoughts to what it takes to obtain the promise of heaven instead.

When faced with self-doubt about the need to live a more ascetic life, I am reminded of these words from St. Bernard of Clarivaux, who as a Cistercian monk could be seen as a spiritual descendent of St. Antony: “They see the cross, but do not see the consolations.”

Yes, there is suffering in “living simply so others may simply live,” but if I shift my view from what I am giving up and instead look at what I am gaining and how I am helping others, the sacrifice is worth it.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.