“This is My Beloved Son. Listen to Him.” (Mark 9:7)

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When I was in post-graduate school, our professor submitted a list of philosophers from which we were each to choose one to research and summarize his or her theories. I chose Jurgen Habermas mostly because I knew nothing about him and thought this would be a wonderful learning experience. I was impressed that his first book was about communicative action and since journalism was my first love: working with words, communicating thought, seeking unbiased truth. Ahh! Studying Habermas would be like digging for treasures in philosophy that would enhance my future work. I was exactly five pages into his work when I realized I was only treading water where Olympic strokes were required. I asked my professor if I could change my subject. “I’m drowning. I’m way over my head,” I crowed. “No,” said the professor. “You are reading him with American eyes; you need to read this through his eyes, his mental construction from his German, post-World War II experience.”

We talked at length and it was clear I was not getting out of this assignment. I’m happy, however, that I stayed with the project and Habermas has become my go-to thinker for these past 40 years of trying to teach and understand rationality applied to justice and peace concerns. His concept of critical theory is almost a paradigm for government leaders seeking to denounce weapons in favor of dialogue, no matter how difficult that effort might be.  I still find Habermas weighty, beyond comprehension at times but I’m going to offer here, in my simple language, why Habermas is very important to know, at least from a political view especially in this period of brutality and wars.

Habermas had been an atheist who volunteered for the Nazi Youth Organization despite that his grandfather was a rector at a local seminary. After World War II, Habermas credited two experiences in his life that became motives for his eclectic studies soon to come along with his questioning of atheism. First, he had been born with a cleft palate and endured a childhood full of surgeries and the usual bullying of classmates, and second, after leaving the Nazi Youth Group he followed the Nuremberg Trials and learned that the regime he had grown up with was “pathological and criminal.” He has dedicated his long life (he is 97 years old) to the study of how the powers that rule nations cannot just argue for peace but must enact peace, must rationally dialogue for peace and then communicate it in action. He sees this as a moral imperative. War is seldom, if ever, the answer. It is never a moral decision when one attacks another. I wonder if this came from his experience as a child being attacked by others and unable to verbally respond outside of emotion. His philosophy which calls for such an approach is referred to as critical theory, in which those who disagree will only come to peace when they act on moral obligations and not impositions. In recent years, Habermas has come to accept the positive effect of religion and faith especially in the public sphere, provided that religious leaders are courageous and speak out on the injustices that impact the world’s citizens. He once discussed this in a public arena with Pope Benedict XVI.

Which takes me to Pope Leo’s statement from the papal balcony where he addressed a large group during the Angelus prayer, the day following the attack on Iran. The pope was visibly sad as he spoke. “I am following with deep concern what is happening in the Middle East…Faced with the possibilities of a tragedy of enormous proportions, I address to the parties involved a heartfelt appeal to assume the moral responsibility to stop the spiral of violence before it becomes an irreparable abyss.” The Pope warned that “peace is not built with mutual threats that sow destruction but only through a dialogue that is reasonable, authentic, and responsible.” Reasonable dialogue. Authenticity. Responsible. Leo is doing exactly what Habermas promotes. He is a world leader begging for dialogue, not bombs, missiles, warfare. There we have it. A philosopher and a pope in agreement.

Reflection

Then comes the Gospel for the Sunday two weeks ago, the narrative in which Peter, James, and John experienced the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mount Tabor. There is no doubt that these simple men did not understand the mystery unfolding before them; they only had to internalize the command from Yahweh: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” Listen to his teaching, listen to his example. Listen to his guidance before you make decisions. Listen to the calls for peace. Listen to the people you govern. Listen to the needs of the world, to those who are fellow human beings, people I love dearly. Listen to Jesus through the wreckage of my peace destroyed by war. Listen. Listen. Please listen to my Son.

This Lent, you and I need to pray for guidance on how to create dialogues in the groups we serve, and we need to live it authentically. Could this be our prayer during this Lent now so shredded by war and tragedy? It would be enough to listen. What will you be doing to listen better to Jesus—or another faith leader if you aren’t Christian? 

Are we listening?

(References to Habermas and quotes from him are found in “Hope in a Post Secular Age: Jurgen Habermas’s Challenge to Christians” by Bill Rehg, S.J., Commonweal, December 24, 2024)

I ask your continued prayers for my eye. I still cannot see out of it, but a retina specialist and my surgeon will be consulting about the next steps following two eye scans these past several days.

Thank you, my dear readers, and Anonymous Angels. I have faith.