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After reading the book and seeing the movie trailer, I think it’s safe to say that this – “oh yeah, the guys who use cilices and whip themselves bloody” Рwill be the impression of Opus Dei that most people take away from The Da Vinci Code. When all is said and done, what sticks in the mind are those gruesome whips and chains.
Characterizing members of Opus Dei in this way is as ridiculous as characterizing Mother Teresa‚Äôs nuns by their (essentially identical) practices of mortification: ah yes, the Sisters of the Charity‚Ķ the ones who use the cilice and discipline. Well, that‚Äôs true enough, but wouldn’t that be missing the point? Everyone knows that’s not what the Sisters of Charity are all about. And it’s not what Opus Dei’s about either.
Of course, the answer to the question in the title above is “Yes… just like a good proportion of the canonized saints and countless uncanonized Christians both today and throughout history.” Truth to tell, it’s not that big a deal. Anyone who is shocked by this is simply unfamiliar with the ascetical traditions of Christianity.
An example will give an idea of what I’m talking about. Don Juan de Palafox y Mendoza (1600-1659) was archbishop and acting viceroy of Mexico. After he was ordained a priest in 1629, he began a program of penance and mortification, which he called his Rule of Voluntary Penance (“Regla de Penitencia Voluntaria”). It required him to do the following: use the disciplines three times a day, like S. Dominic; wear a cilice, like S. Bruno; sleep on a board like S. Francis; not eat fruit, like S. Bernard; on Fridays, drink only vinegar mixed with oil, like Henry Suso.
It is clear that, in his practices of penance and mortification, this famous bishop from the Baroque era understood himself to be entering into a great tradition of Christian asceticism.
It must be said immediately, however, that the reality in Opus Dei is quite different from what one finds in The Da Vinci Code. In fact, I’m a little afraid that, should someone who’s seen the movie happen upon a real cilice and discipline they’d just laugh – like someone who shows up for a duel expecting to see a .44 Magnum only to face a water pistol instead.
In The Da Vinci Code, the cilice is a notched leather belt studded with metal barbs which cut the flesh and cause Silas to bleed profusely.
In reality, the cilice (pronounced “sillis”) is a small metal chain with sharp points facing inward. No leather, no belt, no notches. Of course, it’s uncomfortable (this is penance, after all), but it shouldn’t cut the flesh or cause bleeding. The version used by members of Opus Dei is worn around the thigh, and the custom within Opus Dei is to wear it two hours a day – except on Sundays, feast days, and certain times of the year.
In The Da Vinci Code, the discipline is a “heavy knotted rope” with which Silas slashes his back until blood flows.
In reality, the discipline is a length of knotted cord (like the cilice, it is small and light enough to carry in a closed fist), ordinarily applied to one’s backside. This is used once a week. It is hard to imagine a discipline ever drawing blood, especially since, in Opus Dei, it is used only for the duration of a short vocal prayer, such as the “Our Father” or “Hail Mary.”
Anyone who wants to know more about it should read John Allen’s chapter on corporal mortification in his book on Opus Dei. He speaks about some Italian nuns who manufacture cilices and disciplines for various groups and individuals in the Church – he even reproduces their price list Рand it turns out that the members of Opus Dei use the smallest models on the market. The wimps!
In fact, what you encounter in the novel is grossly misleading at several levels – not just the physical description, but also the psychological and the theological significance of such practices.
First of all, a bit of terminology. Despite the impression you’d get from The Da Vinci Code, the expression “corporal mortification” is not a synonym for the use of the cilice and discipline. Corporal mortification is a much broader category. It includes any kind of bodily suffering born in a Christian spirit. It refers to both “passive mortification,” when people patiently bear the aches and pains that life sends their way, and “active mortification,” when the sufferings are self-imposed. The best-known form of active corporal mortification is fasting, but there are many other forms. To read the lives of the saints is to encounter a truly encyclopedic range of self-imposed “mortifications.” The cilice and discipline form part of this vast tradition.
As the adjective ‚Äúcorporal‚Äù implies, there are other ‚Äúnon-corporal‚Äù forms of mortification. They are often called ‚Äúinterior mortifications.‚Äù For exmaple, in his book entitled The Way, the founder of Opus Dei, St. Josemaria Escriva, writes, ‚ÄúThe appropriate word you left unsaid; the joke you didn’t tell; the cheerful smile for those who bother you; that silence when you’re unjustly accused; your kind conversation with people you find boring and tactless; the daily effort to overlook one irritating detail or another in those who live with you… this, with perseverance, is indeed solid interior mortification.‚Äù(n. 173)
The Christian practice of corporal mortification has its roots in the Bible. In the New Testament, St. Paul writes, “we always bear the death of Jesus in our bodies so the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our bodies.” (2 Cor. 4:10) The Latin word translated here as “death” is, in fact, “mortificationem” – the Latin text reads “semper mortificationem Iesu in corpore circumferentes” – so it is fairly easy to see where the langauge of “corporal mortification” comes from.
Today, the cilice and discipline, while still in use, are less common than they once were, and so they may strike some people as odd and grotesque, but they have very conventional pedigrees. The cilice is nothing but a modern descendent of the hairshirt or sackcloth of ancient times, and the discipline was popularized as a convenient substitute for the long fasts often imposed in the sacrament of penance in the Middle Ages.
Most people are familiar with the custom of penitential fasting and the Biblical expression “sackcloth and ashes.” In the New Testament, Jesus himself speaks of both: “The day will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them, and then they’ll fast” (Matthew 9:15); “Because if the mighty works that happened in you had taken place in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented in sackcloth and ashes long ago.” (Matthew 11:21) Of course, people still fast, and the Biblical ashes live on in the tradition of Ash Wednesday, but, appearances notwithstanding, the sackcloth hasn’t really disappeared either, because it lives on in the cilice.
In the Biblical story of Achab and Naboth’s vineyard, we read: “And when Ahab heard those words, he rent his clothes, and he put sackcloth upon his flesh and fasted” (1 Kings 21:27). The Latin word for “sackcloth” here is “cilicio.” In essence, it refers to cloth made of goats’ hair or horsehair. In this scene, we see that its use goes hand in hand with fasting. We find the same language elsewhere in the Old Testament: “I wore sackcloth; I afflicted myself with fasting.” (Ps. 34:13; the Latin is “induebar cilicio…”)
In short, we’re in the realm of Biblical penance. The English word “cilice” comes from the French word for “haircloth,” which in turn comes from Latin “cilicium,” from Greek “kilikion” from “Kilikia” – the Greek name for the area “Cilicia” in Asia Minor, because the coarse uncomfortable cloth was made of Cilician goats’ hair.
As for the discipline, its great popularizer was St. Peter Damian (today’s his Feast day), who lived in the 11th century. In Butler‚Äôs Lives of the Saints, we read, ‚ÄúThis saint recommends the use of disciplines whereby to subdue and punish the flesh, which was adopted as a compensation for long penitential fasts. Three thousand lashes, with the recital of thirty psalms, were a redemption of a canonical penance of one year‚Äôs continuance.‚Äù Interestingly, Butler continues, ‚ÄúSir Thomas More, St. Francis of Sales, and others, testify that such means of mortification are great helps to tame the flesh, and inure it to the labours of penance; also to remove a hardness of heart and spiritual dryness, and to soften the soul into compunction. But all danger of abuses, excess, and singularity, is to be shunned, and other ordinary bodily mortifications, as watching [i.e., a vigil] and fasting, are frequently more advisable.‚Äù
This emphasis on more ordinary bodily mortifications is precisely Opus Dei’s approach. The strict limits that Opus Dei places on the use of the cilice and discipline – they are, in any event, only used by a minority within Opus Dei – reflect the wisdom of Butler’s words. In The Da Vinci Code, the character Silas flagrantly violates these limits, as, to his credit, Dan Brown does note. In fact, if a member of Opus Dei insisted on doing what Silas does, he would be shown the door in a hurry.
My main point here, though, is that – leaving behind the fantasy world of The Da Vinci Code Рwhen we’re talking about the cilice and discipline, we are not in the whips-and-chains realm of masochistic “monks.” We are dealing with a variation on the old and familiar Biblical theme of sackcloth and fasting.
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Even as a young Catholic schoolchild hearing the nuns tell us about the ways the saints would torment themselves (all those of a certain age who attended Catholic school heard these tales I’m sure) I thought to myself–this is very very strange.
Now I can understand intellectually your defense of these practices as just another type of mortification. Perhaps my gut feeling of revulsion for these more spectacular forms is just a cultural thing. You speak of the opportunities for mortification that come one’s way in the ordinary course of the day–e.g. putting up with jerks or fasting. If the cilice and discipline are not that big a deal and since at least the American sensibility finds it so offputting, shouldn’t Opus Dei consider abandoning them and expanding these other practices? What organization needs that negativity if it’s so easy to avoid?
That’s what I don’t get. Of course an ordinary person will focus on what looks to them as the bizarre stuff and not on the positive attributes of the organization. That’s just plain natural and not a sign of bad faith. Why not avoid that reaction altogether?
(Drinking what amounts to salad dressing straight? The nuns forgot to mention that one. Yikes!)
Great points.
I guess we went to different Catholic schools… or at least not at the same time. My nuns in Chicago never talked about this stuff.
The gut feeling of revulsion seems perfectly natural. If we weren’t so used to it, looking at a crucifix would surely provoke similar feelings. After all, that is a dying man there with nails through his hands and feet. The unattractiveness of the Cross and of penance is, I think, a faithful reflection of the horror of sin. If we see clearly, neither sin nor suffering are pleasant to look at.
To be honest, if I had cooked up a plan of penance (as Bishop Palafox did) from scratch, I don’t think that the cilice and discipline would ever have crossed my mind. But, in a sense, that’s one of the things that traditions make possible: tapping into practices and ways of thought that are outside one’s immediate cultural frame of reference – and the cilice and discipline were definitely outside the frame of reference of the suburban “Chicagoland area.”
You’re right: there’s no bad faith at all in being put off by certain forms of corporal mortification. It’s just a sign of a cultural change.
I intend to write a bit more about the place of mortification within the spirit of Opus Dei, but I think it needs to be stressed that it’s not a question of “expanding” the other, less alarming forms of mortification. For everyone in Opus Dei, those other forms are, in fact, the main thing, and for the vast majority, the ONLY thing. And it’s not as if we call attention to these practices; it’s as private as private can be – even within the Work.
It may be that when people see the entirety of Opus Dei more clearly, these practices will receive the attention they deserve: a footnote. People don’t obsess about the Sisters of Charity doing similar things, and I think that’s because they can see the bigger picture. I don’t hear people callng for the Sisters to change their ways.
Thanks for the questions.
Fair enough. I hear ya. Maybe nobody’s going after the Sisters of Charity because for whatever reason, fair or not, this practice of their’s is under the radar. But if it wasn’t, the same critique would apply.
If the practice is no more important than a footnote, by the same token it could be terminated in the interest of making the organization more appealing to the world. That is my only point. Its continuance in the face of such criticism, rational or not, just seems unwise.
(I am in my 50s and went to Catholic school in an east coast Irish/Italian neighborhood. A couple of the nuns had brogues you could cut with a knife and would delight in regaling us with tales of say, St. Rose of Lima, which I admit had us all riveted. Come to think of it, in retrospect this was a Catholic school out of Central Casting!)
Yes, St. Rose of Lima is one of the saints I had in mind. After hearing about her mortifications, I think it’s hard to get too worked up about what certain members of Opus Dei do. Maybe I’ll post something on her.
Terminating the praxis certainly wouldn’t change anything essential about Opus Dei. Various members of the Work have said as much publicly. I’m not sure, though, whether the really negative reactions are a response to the reality or to the mythology (i.e., the Da Vinci Code version of things). And then there are an awful lot of saints – included very level-headed ones like St. Thomas More and St. Francis de Sales – who recommended these practices…
Also keep in mind that we are partly so shocked by this because of our current culture– what are we used to, what kinds of sacrifices do we value, etc.
For instance– parts of our culture place a huge value on natural childbirth. No pain medication. Let’s respect women’s bodies and not pollute them unnecessarily during what should be a natural process. Okay, fine.
But let’s be honest here– the kind of pain (discomfort) inflicted by the cilice or discipline is just eclipsed by the pains of childbirth. There is NO comparison. Yet because my organic/holistic California peers are familiar with, and value, that kind of voluntary mortification (and it is voluntary– anybody can have an epidural anytime they want!) nobody bats an eye at a woman who opts for natural childbirth because of essentially philosophical reasons. Rather, that choice is applauded.
Yet people look askance at the cilice because it is done for God. Where’s the logic in that? If I opt for natural childbirth not because I’m a granola, but because I want to offer it up, does that suddenly put me in the freak category?
I don’t mean to be hostile here, I just get a little annoyed by the whole issue sometimes because our culture’s perspective and values seem so warped. People inflict more pain on themselves working out at the local YMCA than numeraries do with the cilice or discipline.
To be sure, in her enthusiasm St. Rose of Lima puts the Sisters of Charity and Opus Dei to shame. Although Opus Dei follows these practices in an attenuated form, the fact they have retained the form at all is what I find disturbing. There’s a certain culture-of-death aspect to it that I can’t put my finger on. As if those saints-Sts. Thomas More and De Sale among them-hated being alive and possessing messy bodies; an attitude the Church outgrew or at least downplayed as a minority POV.
I suppose this is an issue on which reasonable people can disagree. The US is a country founded by WASPs and their attitude to asceticism is quite different from that in Latin countries, where either you’re scourging yourself or you’re indulging in wretched excess (just look at Mediterranean-style funiture); no in-between apparently. The eminently rational WASP attitude is: Don’t embrace discomfort but don’t get TOO comfortable either. The very soul of moderation. As Americans we’ve embraced the latter attitude despite our Catholicism. Maybe this is a source of discomfort with physical mortification. My $.02.
“People inflict more pain on themselves working out at the local YMCA than numeraries do with the cilice or discipline”
But they do it because they like their bodies and want to improve them. The pain is an unavoidable side effect.
“Yet people look askance at the cilice because it is done for God.”
Because it’s done FOR the pain. The infliction of pain is the point. Why should anyone dislike their bodies enough to deliberately inflict pain on it?
Natural childbirth is an incredibly harrowing, unforgettable experience. (Oh yes I remember!) But even here the mother is not inflicting pain on herself. There’s value in undergoing an experience every mother in history has had to remind one of their animal self, the one that doesn’t care that she’s a college graduate or that she can’t stand the prospect of another contraction. There’s value in not being totally out of it during one of the high points in your life. The use of pain relief would change the experience-I know, having done it both ways, and I found going without, as painful as it was the better time. So yeah, it may be for philosophical reasons, but it can never be called masochistic.
But, anonymous, the terminology you are using already reflects your bias. You cannot imagine anyone taking on voluntary corporal mortification unless they dislike their bodies! Yet, you claim at the same time that the totally-avoidable pains of childbirth are by definition not masochistic.
I’m not trying to be argumentative here, but I think you need to ackowledge that you are simply putting a higher a higher value on certain things like natural childbirth or physical fitness versus less tangible (but equally real) goods like closer union with Jesus Christ or making reparation for sins.
We human beings are a union of body and spirit. If we restrict our relationship with God to purely spiritual, invisible acts, we really run the risk of fooling ourselves. We can adorn ourselves with all sorts of imagined virtues while really backsliding into lukewarmness or worse. Corporal mortification (and I don’t just mean the cilice and discipline– I’m not a numerary so I don’t even use them) helps to keep us honest and reminds us that we can’t just “talk the talk” unless we are also willing to “walk the walk.”
Just being alive means that you will undergo physical pain; you don’t have to go looking for it. Natural childbirth and its attendant pain was the rule until recently. It’s nature telling you: “You’re a woman and this comes with the territory, Honey. Deal with it.” Isn’t this a lesson our overcivilized selves can find useful? The mom is not inflicting pain on herself but letting it happen. Now contrast this mom with the cilice wearer who has found a totally artificial way to bring more pain into her life. And while this practice may not harm her physically, it is the spiritual descendant of practices that in the past did. The Church has wisely condemned mutilation, and the use of a cilice, however mild, strikes this Catholic as being on a continuum with mutilation.
But there’s nothing “mutilating” about natural childbirth. It’s been part of the human condition since creation.
“Corporal mortification helps to keep us honest and reminds us that we can‚Äôt just ‚Äútalk the talk‚Äù unless we are also willing to ‚Äúwalk the walk.‚Äù”
I hope you’re not claiming it’s necessary in order to be a good Catholic. Fr. Wauck mentions non-physical forms of penance. These are the only kind available to folks like myself who are averse to the notion of physical mortification, rational or not.
Thought I might as well join the fun and chime in a bit. Margaret mentions unity of body and spirit, and I do think that is the key point. St. Paul uses athletic analogies in Scripture, and I think the idea of “training” the body to affect the mind and the soul makes sense. Actually, we’re used to this in the secular world to some extent. When I took karate as a kid, we celebrated birthdays by having every other kid punch us in the stomach. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t strengthen any muscles directly. And in ROTC in college we used to have these thirteen-mile romps in boots with backpacks full of sand not so much to develop physical fitness as mental preparedness.
It also seems helpful to try to develop some sense of solidarity with those who suffer, such as the poor and sick, and particularly Christ himself. Maybe disciplines and cilices aren’t for everyone, but I tend to think most people could benefit from some form of physical mortification. As Fr. Wauck mentioned, fasting is the most common corporal penance, with a long tradition in the Church.
Inflicting some bodily discomfort is not an end in itself and definitely should not be done out of hatred for the body, but it doesn’t sound like these are problems in Opus Dei. The uses of the discipline and cilice that Fr. Wauck mentions sound measured, and I don’t have any particular aversion to them. All in all, they don’t sound any worse than high-heeled shoes. (Smallest disciplines on the market, huh? Ha ha! Wimps indeed!
) As I understand the corporal mortifications are also monitored by a spiritual director to avoid excess.
Now you get some discussion! The great Dominican theologian Garrigou-Lagrange has a “footnote” of note in the first volume of his Three Ages of the Interior Life where he writes about the ‘active purification of the senses’. With Lent fast approaching (sic) this rather lengthy quote could serve as food for thought. It reads as follows: “With this end in view, the Church prescribes certain days of fast and abstinence; with the same purpose, the founders of religious orders established certain austerities, such as vigils, the discipline, and perpetual abstinence from meat. The saints do not deprive themselves of these means of preserving the perfection of absolute chastity. St Domonic used to scourge himself three times every night; once to expiate his own faults; a second time, for those of sinners; and a third, for the souls in purgatory. He consecrated the night to prayer and penance: he slept little, rarely before Matins, and never went to bed afterward. … Doubtless such mortification presupposes exceptional graces; but there are certain austerities that we can all practice instead of seeking our comfort. For example, the habit of taking the discipline preserves us from many faults, keeps alive the love of austerity, expiates many negligences, and helps us to deliver souls from the bonds they have made for themselves. In a religious order [my note: what he says now can apply to other institutions in the Church that are not religious orders] the observances are a little like what the bark is to the tree: if the bark is peeled from a vigorous oak, the sap no longer rises, the tree withers and dies. The saints say: “If you mitigate observances, you relax souls,” which will no longer have the enthusiasm needed to run in the way of perfection.”
Thanks, Kiwi, for that great citation of Garrigou-Lagrange from down under.
I am in full accord with anonymousrightnow’s wariness of “anti-body” attitudes, and I am curious about her views on fasting. That can be a very severe form of mortification, but it was performed (in a fairly extreme form) by Our Lord and is mandated by the Church during Lent.
For the record, I am not advocating that anyone use the cilice and discipline; I just want to make clear that it is not as “far out” as it may seem at first glance.
As for the high heels… that reminds me of a girl I saw on the street today with a ring through her lower lip. She puts a hole in her lip (to keep up with the temporary fad), but I can’t put a scratch on my thigh (in keeping with the practice of centuries’ worth of saints)? There’s something a little funny about our culture, it seems to me.
If the person that posted this original comment had actually read the whole book, they would have realise that the point of relaying all that info about Silas was to allow in readers minds, that even in the MOST dedicated of Gods workers, there can be the misguided, that was the entire POINT
“…I am curious about her views on fasting. That can be a very severe form of mortification, but it was performed (in a fairly extreme form) by Our Lord and is mandated by the Church during Lent.”
OK, I’ll bite. Maybe the difference can be found in whether the mortification is active vs. passive. The Church I know considers this a crucial qualification when resolving other moral questions, e.g. killing vs. letting die a patient with a dismal prognosis. One is often hungry at some point in the day before one’s next meal. To refrain from eating for penance only means we let that natural condition persist longer than we would ordinarily. So fasting is OK, even extreme fasting until it runs up against the rule against bodily harm. A day with say only 1 meal for a healthy person easily passes this test; St. Catherine of Siena-style fasting? No. There’s a continuum here I realize, and it could be a tough call at times.
Now the cilice and discipline actively inflict pain and for that very purpose. A case could be made that the bodily harm test here is much stricter-even to forbid their use at all-since this type of pain would not naturally occur outside the penitent’s actions.
But to tell you the truth I’m uncomfortable about fasting too-aside from the super mild stuff required. I don’t even consider that “fasting” but sort of a sign of my identity as a Catholic, like a Jew wearing a yarmulke. It’s as if-I don’t know how well I can articulatete this-it trivializes God and the sacred to require a physical sacrifice when it is so much more productive to put our energy into keeping up a cheerful attitude, moral behavior and going above and beyond in our service to our fellows. Maybe my problem is what I perceive as the misallocation of energy in useless exercises that go nowhere and benefit no one.
If I were to say embark on a grand emersonian program of self-improvement involving hunger, spartan self-denial, and physical pain as I train rigorously for the gold in the Olympic Luge competition, that is one thing. That would be for me and “profane”things; the worst that could be said is that it’s narcissistic.
But if I’m asked to undergo pain and hunger for God I would question the benefit of that. I’d ask God to please put me to work at something of some use ot me or others, not in dead-end exercises of dubious value. Perhaps this is an essentially American Protestant attitude, but you know the Protestants weren’t wrong about everything.
I’m done with this topic; this is the best I can do.
“.‚Ķ that reminds me of a girl I saw on the street today with a ring through her lower lip. She puts a hole in her lip (to keep up with the temporary fad), but I can‚Äôt put a scratch on my thigh”
For the record, I’m in favor of neither. My daughter has piercings. Despite my discomfort with mutilation, if this is the extent of her adolescent rebellion, I’m grateful. At least she’s not into tatoos.
Jesus Christ fasted and encouraged his disciples to fast (remember, this kind can only be cast away with prayer and fasting). he was crucified, after a bloody scourging (brought to mind very well by Mel Gibson). Jesus then established a Church that has since tried to follow its Master. It is not surprising that along the way, some among these followers would rebel at some points of their Master´s teaching, calling to question first one aspect, then another, and in many cases, the whole. That is the value of freedom.
Some of these rebellions make Jesus seem outdated and put a lie to the term “fidelity”, infected as we are by relativism everywhere we turn. The only objective absolute resides in ME. What is inconvenient for me cannot be the truth. No, don¬¥t give me the argument of WASPs – those too are a product of this relativism that seeks to define truth for itself.
That Jesus was a “Sign of Contradiction” in his time tells us that none of the phenomenon we are witnessing today, such as fear of the Cross is new. It is all as old as the Gospel.
Those today that do not shy away from being themselves a “Sign of Contradiction” in fidelity to their Master, deserve my admiration.
Thanks, anonymousrightnow, for all the thoughtful comments. I hope you’ll take my word for it that I’m as opposed to mutilitation and hatred of the body as you are. It would be naive, I admit, to think that this fundamentally unChristian hatred hasn’t crept into some Christians’ souls over the centuries (I think it is alive and well today too), but the Church has always been on guard against it, condemning the various manichean-style sects that are a recurring feature of western history. And I’d insist that the whole thrust within Opus Dei is toward the ordinary mortifications and away from the extraordinary. One of these days I’ll put up some quotations from St. Josemaria that I think you’ll like (he sounds like you!).
I assume I’m the original poster referred to by Chell. Actually, I have read the whole book – twice, as a matter of fact (talk about mortification!) – and I agree that Silas is clearly portrayed as a misguided soul (in fact, in the original post, I gave credit to Mr. Brown for noting this). The way in which Silas, despite his heinous deeds, provokes more sympathy than loathing is one of the more interesting things about the book. It will be interesting to see if this carries over into the movie. In short, I don’t have any real disagreement with Chell.
Nevertheless, there are plenty of elements in the description of Silas’s mortifications that misrepresent these practices and Opus Dei’s approach to them (among many others, the non-existent “mantra” of St. Josemaria).
One more thought and I’m done.
Rereading my posts here, I can see my objections to corporal mortifications are intellectualized and everdetermined–their basis is an emotional repugnance. But sometimes it’s prudent to just go with your gut-the sense that these practices may express body hatred is just too close for comfort. As I said before this may be something on which reasonable people can disagree.
Off-topic: FWIW, I was surprised to see a long spot for the DVC movie during the Olympics last night. I cannot recall a tv advertising campaign starting so early-nearly 3 months- prior to a premiere.
Great discussion. Thank you to Fr John W. for provoking it, and to all the others who make such interesting contributions.
[English is not my native tongue: please feel free to check and correct my writing]
In my own reflexion on the subject, I’ve been quite illuminated by Eamon Duffy’s book, Faith of our Fathers. A chapter or these “reflections on catholic tradition” (the author is a well-known British historian, whose Catholicism used to be labelled as “critical” or “liberal”) deals with “The art of dying”. Duffy forcefully stresses the differences between traditional and contemporary ways of dealing with the death ‚Äî and makes some powerful points in favour of the traditional concern for the moment of dying and the very idea of the “Christian death”.
What this has to do with mortification, as etymology already suggests, is that the various practices of mortification are not justified only by the “weakness of the flesh” or with penance. Rather, “weakness of the flesh” should not be narrowly understood as referring only to sensuality: more deeply, it has to do with our natural fear of the death, of the loss of our corporal integrity. And mortification (litterally “deadening”, isn’t?) plays a not insignificant role in the preparation for this “trial” which is sickness, agony and death. It helps the person to overcome the natural fear of suffering, which can lead us astray in those moments. And it gets its real meaning by being intrinsically oriented toward love and union with God, through the imitation of Christ in His own sufferings. In short, mortification is a powerful reminder of the fact that “this” life in not its own end.
The ways and means of christian mortification can vary, and they are a matter for the virtue of temperance: an olympic sprinter doesn’t submit himself to the same training as a sunday jogger (as myself). But mortification is for every one, as everyone needs that kind of training.
Like Vince rightly pointed out, this is really a good topic for discussion. My first contact with what I can now see was “corporal mortification” was reading Our Lady of Fatima by Walsh in my early teens. It describes the vision of hell shown to the children by Our Lady and how sad they felt that many people were heading straight into it. Our Lady asked them to pray a lot and offer sacrifices for the conversion of sinners. I can¬¥t remember all the details now but I seem to recall that one day, while discussing, one of them accidentaly felt the roughness of a piece of rough rope lying around and in an instant the idea that occured to them was to wear that discomfiting rope under their clothes as a form of penance. When next Our Lady appeared to them, she told them she was pleased by their penance but asked them not to wear it while sleeping. I would like to point out that these were mere kids who I¬¥m not sure had heard of “corporal mortification” in the sense we are discussing now but they wanted to have something to offer for the sake of souls. Our Lady moderated the use in their case. This did not stop them from giving their midday snacks to beggars on their way to pasture their sheep and sometimes would delay drinking water when they were thirsty. With the way things are going on in the world today, I daresay there¬¥s need to atone for so many sins. When there is love for God, one can decide to offer up a little bit of mortification, of course with due moderation.I think that with Lent coming up soon, we have an opportunity of drawing closer to God through the practice of mortification, which if I understood correctly should be done with a supernatural intention in mind. It may only be delaying that extra cup of coffee or using less milk or sugar. I strongly recommend the reading of the book by Walsh.
Thank you Kene,
Your comments helps to restore “corporal mortification” to the realm where it truely belongs: a means of holiness, rather than try to understand it from the point of view of political-correctness. Do you want to be a saint, or would you rather just get-by “on your own terms”? The choice is ultimately yours.
Another point noteworthy in the lives of all those who did use corporal mortification in history is that they did so freely. Each one felt a need for that “extra”, convinced of the needs of her/his soul.
As a philosopher, interested in social sciences, I’ll have one more point to make, this time not about the Christian meaning of mortification, but ‚Äî on another level, no doubt ‚Äî about the “social” meaning of suffering. This is, one could say, a secular approach, very different in scope and depth, from the theological and spiritual line which is predominant in this forum. But I do believe that a Christian (intellectual) can benefit from social sciences in that it can help her to overcome the sense of ‚Äústrangeness‚Äù, of isolation, which is so easily fed in a secularized society.
The hint I begin with is a remark of Claude L?©vi-Strauss, the French anthropologist:
“The threshold of excitement, the limits of resistance are different in each culture. The ‘impossible’ effort, the ‘unbearable’ pain, the “unbounded’ pleasure are less individual functions than criteria sanctioned by collective approval, and disapproval.”
It seems fair to say that in our culture, the threshold of pain is quite low (I was struck, years ago, when I heard a professor saying, in a provocative way, that “the medieval monk doesn’t know that he is cold in his cell”). Moreover, we have no ready-to-hand ways of dealing with suffering. Pain should be something we could always (in theory) relieve efficiently: hence our disarray when confronted with unexplained or incurable suffering, and our tendency to look for “someone responsible” — to blame for it.
The Christian idea of mortification can only raise objections in that context: first because we have no idea of pain being possibly something positive in some sense (I try to be careful here, remembering of Silas’ “pain is good” leitmotiv…), and second because the idea of somebody willfully inflicting pain on himself seems utterly senseless, not to say morbid or pathological.
But, I should argue, this is not a strength of our culture; it is rather a great weakness, since pain is quite unavoidable — even in principle. Somebody said that Progress can only be an illusion, since the more we are able to cure physical pain, the more we are exposed to moral suffering — moral sensitivity growing up along with the level of physical coziness. There is some truth in that, isn’t? After all, it is a statistical fact that, for example, the suicide rate in a society is correlated to the GDP.
Christianity has something important to say, on this ground, to our society. For it can make sense of such natural reactions as the one mentioned by Kene, about the children of Fatima. And not only of this one. I remember one scene in a movie, some years ago, where a young woman, wandering in the city after a sentimental crisis, in sorrow and guiltiness (I really don’t remember the details, sorry…), rubbed her fist against a rough wall — until she bled. So useless, hmm? but so “understandable”. Maybe it is not something you can explain properly, in the idiom of our culture; but you can show it in a movie, and suddenly it seems so natural, so realistic.
The hardest thing to understand about mortification is why people deliberately embrace this type of discomfort. Exercise and face-lifts are not completely persuasive analogies, because the discomfort of those activities are by-products rather than something consciously sought after. Mortification is different; the discomfort is something deliberately chosen. A better analogy to explain mortification is the walk-athon. Why do people walk 10 miles for aids of for breast cancer research? What’s the point of it all? I think people go on walk-a-thons because it’s part of human nature to want to undertake some sacrifice in order to identify with something greater than yourself. In the same way, people give up something for Lent or fast or even use the cilice because they want to identify themselves with the sufferings of Christ.
Dear John Wauck,
From what i have read on the internet, in particular to your singing off biography on http://www.jesusdecoded.com i should understand that you are an opus dei member, and therefore requires a cilice use of about 2 hours per day. Independently from any sort of tradition or hystorical cases of penance, how can you personally come to think that harming ourselves and causing ourselves pain and discomfort can relieve believers from their sins (taken from the da vinci code itself, although i do not know if this is exactly the reason for the cilice use)? What god would want pain and even more suffering spread among the people of this world, as if there wasn’t enough already looking around us. I am an atheist, but i don’t think that has anything to do with this. I perfectly respect all religions, and so far i have tried to research into their history and beliefs to undersant them and know all points of view before coming up with my opinion. Looking on the more human aspect, it seems to me that a cilice and “whipping” is additional pain and discomfort on someone that could easily concentrate on helpin others rather than hurting themselves. I still can’t come to understand how a god’s will could be that of harmingthemselves. Perhaps you could help me understand this more, maybe from a persoanl point of view? thanx again – francesca
Thanks, Francesca, for the excellent questions. Yes, I am a numerary member of Opus Dei, and that means that, as general rule, I use the cilice a couple of hours a day. There are various reasons for doing this, and not all of them have to do with the forgiveness of sins. I have a few more posts to do on this topic, and I hope they’ll provide a fuller explanation; for the moment, though, I’d just say that you’ve put your finger on the central question and that it is something of a mystery. Please don’t trust the Da Vinci Code’s explanation of the rationale for corporal mortification. From a Catholic point of view, Silas’s “penitential” actions are quite insane; they make no sense at all. You don’t get rid of sins by hurting yourself. Judas certainly hurt himself after betraying Jesus, but his suicide is considered a terrible sin – not penance. Christian forgiveness is something else entirely.
Ultimately, no one gets rid of their own sins. It is Jesus Christ who does that for us, but He doesn’t do it without our willing cooperation. The mystery enters the picture here: an essential part of Christ’s project of saving us was His own passion and death on the cross, and , if we want the salvation that Christ offers to be our own, we cannot look upon His sacrifice as if we were mere spectators – indifferent onlookers. After all, He died for us. We are saved by entering into a loving union with Christ, identifying ourselves with Him (including His suffering) and, this, in some way, means sharing in it ourselves. As He Himself says, “Pick up your cross and follow me.” The goal, of course, is not suffering or pain itself, but rather union with a Savior who, among other things, mysteriously suffers for us.
There’s a lot more to be said, but I hope that this serves as a preliminary answer. Thanks again for the questions.
I have read all the questions and answers with great interest. They are a reflection of the contemporary mind. People expect the Opus Dei to be “transparent”. It has answered all questions in a very transparent way. Now they expect the Opus Dei to stop doing what they are doing to make it more appealing to other people. Opus Dei wants to be appealing to God. If things are no big deal and they say then they could be dropped; the same thing can be said in reverse. If they are no big deal and they are a way for making reparation to God, WHY NOT ADOPT THEM? Someone mentioned that one can please God by doing good for others. True enough. Many times this good, if not offered with the right intention will either banish in a short time, or wil be done for personal satisfaction, or personal standing in an organization. Private ways of mortifications remind us that everything else we do should be done for God, not for us to feel good, not forus to gain accolades from other people. Many people inside and outside the church should strive to learn more about spiritual ways, instead of trying to make spiritual things easy for all to accept.
I just came across this other blog post on corporal mortification. Personally I found the photos intriguiging.
It really does shame the “baby” cilices I have found on the web. Here
(Excuse my English: I’m a foreigner). I read this and I keep on wondering… Shall I ignore all this controversy or shall I speak out my mind? Will it change anything if I say what I think? Sorry: I’m too young to beleive in ideals, in truth or such. Still, I beleive in happiness, in love, in myself. I’m not very sure I beleive in God. At least not in the Catholic God.
The point is… Why can’t Opus Dei members simply admit that sometimes they are mistaken? Is it so hard to admit that, as any human being, you can also be completely, entirely wrong? Corporal mortification, and even the whole concept of “mortification”, is a big mistake. Take for example this: “the cheerful smile for those who bother you”. There is no mortification here. If you do smile to those who bother you, you would still be considering them as (beg your pardon) “a pain in the a…”. Hypocrisy. If you smile because you love, well, that’s different: that would be a smile filled with pleasure, a true smile.
Now, talking about corporal mortification, it does nothing but undermine self-esteem. I mean: if you, father Wauck, enjoy beating yourself up, it’s OK. That is called masochism, and I’m pretty sure we could call that an emotional disorder (could be fixed up with a good psychoanalitic therapy). But if a young numerary (say, a 15-year-old boy) is told to use cilice because by doing so he will please God, that is called blackmail, extortion. And that is not fair.
Anyway, Dan Brown’s book surely misses the point because he hits the wrong place. As I have already said, it would have been pretty more interesting to read a book about a numerary that, at his 30-something, finds out that he wants out, but can’t leave the organization because he has no money, no bank accounts, almost no family, no friends… He hasn’t got all that, not because he didn’t want to, but because he wasn’t allowed to have them. Of course, if someone wrote such a story, Opus Dei members would say again that the author is wrong.
I sincerely wish you are happy, Father Wauck. I don’t expect you to answer this post, because I know it might sound aggressive. I would like it better if you had some time to think about it.
Hi dragonfly,
No, I don¬¥t believe you when you say you are “too young to believe in ideals, in truth as such” and then later go on to give us a view into your “ideals”, ¬¥your¬¥”truths”, etc. In my opinion (and I could well be wrong), you make that initial premise to avoid us judging your ¬¥views and ideals¬¥ too harshly. Ok, I will oblige you that and will try not to attack you personally.
The fact that you say you do not believe in God makes your other observations very understandable, for if you did (and did as many Catholics try to do), you might have a different view about the Christian practices in contention here.
“a cheerful smile for those who bother you”, gets you worried about hypocricy. “Cheerful” qualifies the “smile” and thus involves an inner attitude of openness and acceptance of the interlocutor. That takes the smile beyond the merely mechanical, don¬¥t you think. Hey, try for a while to practice that and you¬¥ll see that it ain¬¥t that easy, baby! Yes, the fellow keeps being “a pain in the a..”, sure, in the same way that I¬¥ve been “a pain in the a..” to my friends often enough, yet they bear with me and remain friends, choosing to overlook my misdemeanor … BECAUSE of a higher reason: our friendship. You see, the only explanation is the reason, our friendship. So, in considering practices such as penance, you ought to look beyond the concrete practice, and look at the motive.
You talk about a numerary at his 30-something, etc… giving the impression that members of Opus Dei are trapped within the organization. I know many members of this Catholic instiution and that is certainly not the true picture. Yes, you would have someone who at the age you mention suddenly wants to leave and realizes that he has no bank accounts, etc, etc. That would indeed be true, if he really lived as a numerary. If a numerary leaves Opus Dei with a bank account, I would then not be surprised that he left, having had “two” lives as it were. When a man leaves his wife in the middle of a marriage, the same double life would be his lot, if all the while he had been setting aside conveniences for an eventual termination of the marriage: he was never sincere about it from the beginning. Alas, that perhaps is the trend nowadays, no? Little surprise that you make the same inference to a supernatural undertaking.
just to give a non_Christian/non_Catholic perspective: My kid almost threw up upon seeing a depiction of The Crucifixion at an art museum. OK, I hear there’s more to Catholocism than sorry masochism – but that masochism is a primitve avatistic remanant that can be discarded. By CARING for ourselves we develop compassion to care for others. Anyay, isn’t morticfication just masturbation of a different sort?
“anon”, I see where you¬¥re coming from. I¬¥m therefore not surprised at your child¬¥s reaction. You say “to care for others”, but to what purpose? You see, many things do not make sense from a “non_Christian” perspective. I¬¥m also not terribly shocked with your last phrase, only wondering at how tangential the thought processes…
(first time here, good morning Fr. John Wauck)
I’ve lived half my life America and half again in the Philippine Archipelago. Perhaps where you are, there is an “intellectual understanding” of such practices. Indeed your description of Opus Dei use of cilice and whips is quite genteel. But insofar as priests and organized religious movements like Opus Dei are indeed examples for the faithful, one cannot escape the historical effect it actually rendered here: real crucifixions during Lent, real flagellations, and well yes, a sadomasochistic Catholicism that bears no resembles to the good news of Jesus Christ.
Perhaps you’d like to see pictures of corporal mortification in the real world? It’s gruesome, senseless, vain-idolatry and blasphemous. So is wearing the cilice, in my opinion.
Yours is a mockery of Christ.
Like wearing tin horns in front Him
who bleeds from our thorns.
Rizalist,
I am a Filipino. And what you imply about us Filipinos is quite insulting.
We’re not stupid as you purport us to be. And neither are Opus Dei intellectuals. Nor organized religious movements.
Trouble with people like you is you think you have the monopoly of truth.
Keep an open mind, man! It may just cost you your salvation…
viriliter,
I don’t speak for all Filipinos about all Filipinos. What I see is almost surely a small part of the whole, but since the topic of this post seems to be corporal moritification, I am merely reporting the real events in the real world of practices that here are described as little more than a good workout in an airconditioned gym. I have no monopoly on the truth, for I am not calling anyone a liar. Nor should I assume that those here would regard me as that either. You say you are a Filipino, then please contravene my portrayal of these wholly bloody and senseless practices that yearly assault a sense of Christianity with physical barbarism that is actually put to commercial purposes. It is a kind of sadomasochistic simony at Lenten season in the archipelago. God’s truth, best I can make out.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am sore at heart to see that the Philippine Catholic Church does nothing to discourage these incredible practices and by their wicked silence, I think, abets them. They would ban Hollywood movie fairy tales about Jesus in love and married with children, but triple-ex rated mockeries of Christ’s crucifixion and passion, they turn a blind eye to, and make dumb their tongues.
Opus Dei’s mortifications seem genteel! my, my! I think at the end of the day, we really need to checkup how we look at our faith.
Someone may have to offer up a good sacrifice of not buying glam things, I may sacrifice not having sex to live the virtue of chastity, an Opus Dei member may have e different way of doing it. But I hope we all lead to one destination- Heaven, homecoming with God.
I think it really does not really matter how we do it as long as the effects to each one and to the people at large leads us all there.
I hope we do not end up into an argument for its sake.
Some Opus Dei members can be too zealous with their love for their brothers that they become control-freak and do not realize the damage it can do to their mind- and soul. Some people get messed up with their duties because they need to be “faithful” to their regular prayers. Some people end up committing serious sins due to work or family pressure and their opus dei brothers add to that.
I have great admiration for the Opus Dei founder, but I hope their members will remember the compassion of Christ.
I respect which way you want to go to reach heaven. Though I condemn evil in all its form. May we all lead there…
Dear Fr John
So a numerary who becomes a priest of Opus Dei is still a numerary (and subject to the rules of numeraries)? Somehow I thought I thought priests were considered to be of a higher order. Or do they just serve the ordinary members by fulfilling the priestly roles? Pardon me for trying to get this straightened out in my head, I am nervous to ask the Opus Dei priests I have contact with. I am a source of information on Opus Dei for my office and friends who know me, and I enjoy explaining what Opus Dei is and is not, but I want to be in possession of the facts. Thanks a lot.
Hi Nina, sorry if I try to answer a question directed to Fr. Wauck. Yes a numerary who becomes a priest remains a numerary, and “subject to the rules of numeraries”. One of the long time dreams of St. Josemaria was having people who themselves have lived and live the spirit of Opus Dei to becomes priest of the prelature, so as, as he always said, “to be of service to their brothers and sisters”. And knowing the spirit inside out as it were, they would be better guides of these souls called to a particular spirituality.
Priests in Opus Dei are not of a higher order, and if you must compare, they are actually less than the lay people (even though St. Josemaria always encouraged all his sons and daughters to give to priests the reverance due to that high calling). Josemaria Escriva also gave his priest sons many examples of never allowing themselves to be served by the women and men of Opus Dei, refushing for instance small services such as carrying his suitcase. Aside from some offices in Opus Dei, most of the other directive ones are held by lay people.
Perhaps I should add for instance that in the Centres of Opus Dei for women, the priest obeys the female director! How´s that for women liberation
Thanks a lot, Nokia.
Palm Pilot Resources for Opus Dei Books – if any one has ‘The Forge’ or ‘the Holy Rosary’ by Josemaria Escriva in iSILO / Palm OS format can they PLEASE email it to me? I am trying hard to find it and being in Ethiopia it is VERY difficult to obtain a copy. Thank you SJRod55@gmail.com
Good article! This should be printed and distributed more widely. It’s the sensible, moderate view that people tend to overlook.
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