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01/01/2005
Secrets and spies
Michael Walsh

The Da Vinci Code and claims about the new cabinet minister, Ruth Kelly, have put Opus Dei in the headlines. What sort of organisation is it today?

ROBERT HANSSEN was a pillar of his parish in Washington DC. He was an FBI agent. With his wife and family he was a prominent supporter of Catholic causes – pro-life, anti-abortion. He and his wife were members of Opus Dei, one of his wife’s brothers was a priest member, one of his daughters a full (“numerary”) member of the same organisation. True, he had a few eccentricities. He habitually dressed in black, so that his FBI colleagues nicknamed him “Dr Death”, and, Gladstone-like, he pursued an apostolate among the street-walkers of the American capital. And for 20 years he sold secrets to the Russians. He pleaded guilty in July 2001.

Compared with Hanssen, the new Education Secretary Ruth Kelly’s links with Opus Dei – she has attended some Opus-organised meetings, confirmed a spokesman rather coyly – seem pretty tenuous. But as a devout Catholic, academically gifted, an evident high-flyer, and someone who has clearly been heading for important political office, the new Cabinet minister is just the type of professional whom Opus has, from its beginnings, been eager to recruit.

There is also something rather symbolic about the fact that the first British politician with any kind of link to Opus Dei should hold the education portfolio. For it was through its involvement in education that Opus in its early days in Franco’s Spain managed to achieve political significance.

Its influence within the Church today is hard to quantify. There are two Opus Dei cardinals, neither of them papabile. Opus’s founder, Josemaría Escrivá de Balaguer, was canonised in 2002 – a relatively quick promotion to the rank of saint, but not untypical of the present pontificate. In 1983, Opus was granted the rank of personal prelature, so far the only one of its kind, and regarded as a sign of papal favour.

Opus has many similarities with a religious order, but isn’t one. Its full members make “fidelities”, which to an outsider are remarkably similar to the vows taken by monks and nuns. But no religious order has within its membership priests, lay men and women, and married people. The full members, those who make the fidelities, are “numeraries”; those who associate themselves with the institution, adhere to its spiritual teachings and receive direction from Opus Dei clergy, but are married, are “supernumeraries”. There are some 85,000 members worldwide but, apart from the clergy – who number around 2,000 – the figures for the different statuses are not revealed. Nor is it possible to find a list of names. Opus members wear no habit and have no badge.

In the past members have had a reputation for secrecy – although Opus itself would prefer the term “discretion”, as recommended by its founder. The secrecy is less than it was, but enough to suggest to Dan Brown that it might provide suitable villains for his worldwide best-selling novel The Da Vinci Code. Brown, however, has hardly done his homework: whatever else Opus’s members may be they are certainly not monks, as The Da Vinci Code’s malevolent Silas is described. For the most part they are lay people, but governed by a small group of priests under their “prelate” who is – although he need not be – a bishop. The prelature is in practice a diocese without geographical boundaries. Those who belong to it are thereby removed from the jurisdiction of the local ordinary, in a manner similar to that of religious orders.

What Opus Dei exists for primarily is the sanctification of its members. Nonetheless, it engages in a number of apostolates, running, for example, halls of residence for university students, operated through a network of limited companies. But there are various other activities, including full-scale universities such as the flagship University of Navarre in Pamplona, catering colleges, schools (although there seems to be no formal Opus Dei school in Britain), youth clubs, and homework clubs.

It is perhaps Opus Dei’s method of seeking new members (“fishing”, in Opus jargon) that has given rise to most criticism. In December 1981, the late Cardinal Basil Hume issued four recommendations in order, he said, “to meet understandable anxieties and to encourage sound practice within the [Westminster] diocese”. He laid down first, that “no person under 18 years of age should be allowed to take any vow of long-term commitment in association with Opus Dei”; secondly, that any young person who wished to do so should discuss it with their parents or guardians; thirdly, that members be free to join or leave without undue pressure, and that members be allowed freely to choose their spiritual director, from within Opus or from without; and, fourthly, that all Opus enterprises within the diocese should be clearly labelled as such.

The letter of these “recommendations” has no doubt been observed, but perhaps not the spirit. For example, the homework clubs – where youngsters are considered potential recruits, without the nature of Opus Dei being revealed to them or to their parents – are known to have still been running in recent years. And although some Opus Dei enterprises are well known, others are not.