Still Life of Fruit, Osias Beert;
1610

FROM “Mortification of the Appetite” by St. Alphonsus Liguori:

The ancient monks, as St. Jerome relates, thought it a great abuse to make use of food cooked by fire. Their daily sustenance consisted of a pound of bread. St. Aloysius, though always sickly, fasted three times in the week on bread and water. St. Francis Xavier, during his missions, was satisfied each day with a few grains of toasted rice. St. John Francis Regis, in the great fatigues of his missions, took no other food than a little flour steeped in water. The daily support of St. Peter of Alcantara was but a small quantity of broth. We read in the Life of the Venerable Brother John Joseph of the Cross, who lived in our own days, and with whom I was intimately acquainted, that for twenty-four years he fasted very often on bread and water, and never ate anything but bread, and a little herbs or fruit. When commanded, on account of his infirmities, to use warm food, he took only bread dipped in broth. When the physician ordered him to take a little wine, he mixed it with his broth to increase the insipidity of his scanty repast.

I do not mean to say that to attain sanctity it is necessary to imitate these examples; but I assert that whoever is attached to the pleasures of the table, or does not seriously attend to the mortification of the appetite, will never make any considerable progress in perfection. They who neglect the mortification of the taste will daily commit a thousand faults.

Let us now come to the practice of denying the appetite. In what is it to be mortified? St. Bonaventure answers: “In the quality, the quantity, and the manner.”

In the quality, adds the Saint, by seeking not what is delicate, but what is simple. Small is the progress of him who is not content with what is offered to him, but requires that it be prepared in a different manner, or seeks more palatable food. He who is mortified is satisfied with what is placed before him; and instead of seeking after delicacies, he selects among all the dishes that may be presented to him the least palatable, provided it be not prejudicial to health. Such was the practice of St. Aloysius, who always chose what was most disagreeable to the taste.

“Wine and flesh,” says Clement of Alexandria, “give strength indeed to the body, but they render the soul languid.” Speaking of himself, St. Bernard says: “I abstain from flesh, lest I should cherish the vices of the flesh.” Give not wine to kings, says the Wise Man. (Prov. xxxi. 4). By kings, in this place, we are to understand, not the monarchs of the earth, but the Servants of God, who rule their wicked passions and subject them to reason. In another place, Solomon says: What hath woe? … Surely they that pass their time in wine, and study to drink off their cups. (Prov. xxiii. 29, 30). Since, then, the word woe in the Sacred Scriptures, according to St. Gregory, means that everlasting misery, woe, eternal woe, shall be the lot of all who are addicted to wine! Because wine is a luxurious thing (Prov. xx. 1), and incites to incontinence. “My first advice,” says St. Jerome, in one of his epistles to the virgin Eustochium, “is, that the spouse of Christ fly from wine as from poison. Wine and youth are a twofold incentive to pleasure.” From the words of the holy Doctor we may infer that he who has not enough courage or bodily strength to abstain altogether from flesh and from wine, should at least use them with great moderation: otherwise he must be prepared for continual molestation from temptations against purity.

A mortified Christian would also do well to abstain from superfluous seasonings which serve only to gratify the palate. The seasonings used by the Saints were ashes, aloes, and wormwood. I do not require such mortifications of you; nor do I recommend very extraordinary fasts. On the contrary, it is, according to Cassian, the duty of all who are not solitaries and that live with others, to avoid, as a source of much vain-glory, whatever is not conformable to common usages. “Where there is a common table,” says St. Philip Neri, “all should eat of what is served up.” Hence he frequently exhorted his disciples “to avoid all singularity as the origin of spiritual pride.” One who is courageous finds opportunities of practising mortification without allowing it to appear to others. St. John Climacus partook of whatever was placed before him; but his refection consisted in tasting rather than in eating what was offered to him; and thus, by his abstemiousness, he practised continual mortification of the appetite without the danger of vanity. St. Bernard used to say that he who lives in Community will take more pleasure in fasting once, while his companions at table take their ordinary repast, than in fasting seven times with them.

— Comments —

Paul T. writes:

Obviously one shouldn’t be addicted to delicacies, but given the choice between cooking something badly and cooking it well, I wouldn’t have thought that there was anything wrong in cooking it well. I was going to add “and surely Chesterton would have agreed with me,” but given his girth, he may hurt my case more than helping it.

Laura writes:

It appears he was speaking only of someone intentionally mortifying himself by refusing the best foods, which would be another form of fasting. I do not interpret his words as saying good food is dangerous under normal circumstances.

He who is mortified is satisfied with what is placed before him; and instead of seeking after delicacies, he selects among all the dishes that may be presented to him the least palatable, provided it be not prejudicial to health.

I am fond of this quote:

“Where there is a common table,” says St. Philip Neri, “all should eat of what is served up.” Hence he frequently exhorted his disciples “to avoid all singularity as the origin of spiritual pride.”

This “singularity” is so common.

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