When Kung and von Hildebrand Came to Loyola, by Michael Healy:

In the middle of my junior year (1970-71) at Loyola University of Los Angeles (now Loyola Marymount University), we had two distinguished guest lecturers: Fr. Hans Kung and Professor Dietrich von Hildebrand. The contrasting manner of their reception at Loyola, as well as their personal effect on me, makes for an interesting tale.

The whole atmosphere of Loyola at the time was one of progressive optimism, the throwing off of the shackles of out-dated authority, and freedom-combined-with-sincerity—this was all man needed. Drifting along with the general atmosphere, with the prevailing view of the Church, and with the vicissitudes of my major [psychology], I was predisposed to view Hans Kung favorably and Dietrich von Hildebrand unfavorably.

Imagine my surprise then when I happily went to see the great man, Kung—before whom the red carpet had been unrolled, whom the Jesuits bowed and scraped before, hoping they were making a good impression, hoping that they would be seen as just as avant-garde as the leading European thinkers—and I had one of the most negative reactions to any person I have ever met or heard in my life. The look on his face, the tone of his voice, the way he held himself, the manner of his response to questions, all combined to give me the most powerful impression I have ever had before or since of someone immensely pleased with himself, actually encouraging those around him to “kiss up” to him (and they happily obliged)—indeed, (and I’m sorry if I do him an injustice) but the image that came to my nineteen-year old mind at the time was “here is an amazingly self-righteous Pharisee.” His manner was such that I was personally and even physically repulsed by the man, despite all the build-up and praise and despite the fact that on purely physical grounds he was a handsome fellow. I could not believe that all these people, whom I had so respected at Loyola, were virtually kissing his feet! Moreover, despite all my feelings of inadequacy and poor self-image, I couldn’t help but feel—surprisingly—a certain pity for the celebrated theologian. It seemed to me that this kind of treatment by those receiving him was terribly dangerous for poor Hans. They were not only enabling but actively encouraging in him an immaturity and an arrogance of immense proportions. I have never been able to get it out of my head ever since that Hans Kung seemed little more than a spoiled child, demanding things to be his way and that he be praised for it. (This was reinforced a couple of years later when I read his Infallible? An Enquiry, especially the lengthy introduction.) By the end of Kung’s talk, I was extremely suspicious of his view of the Church and therefore of the prevailing “Jesuit” view at Loyola. I was beginning to think that my own insights might be worth something, compared to the “crowd.” For this important step toward maturity, I shall be forever grateful to Hans Kung.

However, it wasn’t until I went to hear the von Hildebrands, despite Jesuit disapproval, that all of this really fell into place in a positive way. Dietrich, who had been scheduled for the talk, had been ordered by his heart doctor not to get too excited, so it was decided that Alice would substitute for him. He was in the audience—right down the same row in which I was sitting as a matter of fact. She gave a brilliant talk on the manner in which Kierkegaard dealt with the theological liberals of his day using irony and humor, with evident and telling parallels to the liberal revolution infecting the Catholic Church after Vatican II. I began to understand why the Jesuits had called a house meeting to keep their “young ones” away! And yet despite the depth and seriousness of what she was saying, Alice never spoke or behaved in such a way as to draw attention to herself (quite different from Kung), but rather in such a way as always to focus on the matter at hand. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t about her but about reality. How refreshing! I was deeply impressed with both her message and her manner. All this time, Dietrich had sat quietly, resting his heart. However, in the question-and-answer session, when questions arose about the state of the Church, he could no longer contain himself. He stood up in the row a few seats down from me and spoke passionately and lovingly of Christ and the Church. He used phrases which I had not heard since grammar school, like “the Holy Roman Catholic Church.” I had several impressions which came together almost immediately.

First, here was someone who really believed, who humbly accepted revelation from God. He was not intent on figuring out how to get around Church teachings but on how to live them. Secondly, here was someone who really loved Christ and the Church with all his heart. He was full of gratitude for the Church, for its authority, its teachings, its sacraments. He was not full of resentment at authority and at the Church. Third, here was a true apostle, proclaiming the truth (not “his” truth but the truth God has given to us all) in season and out of season, ready to stand joyfully with Christ and the Church even when human opinion showered him with ridicule. I looked down my row at the white-haired octogenarian gesturing with his umbrella for emphasis and risking a heart attack in his enthusiasm (also risking a few hats and heads in the row adjacent with the umbrella) and I felt like I had met St. Paul. Finally, here was someone full of joy and hope, despite his deep sorrow over and reasoned critique of what was going on in the Church. I had met someone who fulfilled the admonition to “Rejoice always and again I say rejoice!” Such a meeting changed my life. I was confirmed in my suspicion that following the crowd is not the highpoint of wisdom. I changed from a psychology to a philosophy major and discovered my vocation to teaching. The von Hildebrand’s visit, together with that of Kung, was pivotal to finding my way in life and in the Church. The effect, I’m afraid, was not the one intended by the Jesuits!

Looking back now on those days, my conclusion is a hopeful one. No matter how long a person swims along inundated by doxa, confused opinions, skeptical debunking, up-to-date progressive theories, cutting edge speculations, etc., once he comes across reality he knows it. As Plato says, truth has a power of its own and can never be swept away by propaganda. One man speaking the truth has tremendous power to break through the fog, reach people, and change lives. Philosophical truth shares with Christianity that compliment given to the latter by C.S. Lewis in a less politically correct age—it challenges the recipient with “the rough, male taste of reality.” Thus the von Hildebrands compared to Kung.

Yet how can I come to a hopeful conclusion when the majority at the time seemed to be going in the opposite direction? Because I firmly believe a) that, if God could pull me out of the morass of those days, He can do so with anyone and b) that God is not limited by majority opinion at any given time. As Kierkegaard loves to say, God doesn’t deal with crowds, He deals with individuals—and He has the lifetime of each of us to do so, including the lifetime of each person at Loyola in 1971. What matters ultimately is not majority opinion at any given time, but the final end of each individual. This is where our hope rests. As it says in the old Spiritual (It is no Secret, What God can Do), “what He’s done for others, He’ll do for you….”

[The complete retelling of this story, first given as an address at the Army & Navy Club, Washington, DC during the Legacy Project’s annual dinner, is forthwith being published by Crisis Magazine.]

Dr. Healy is professor of philosophy at Franciscan University of Steubenville, where he served as Chief Academic Officer under the presidency of Fr. Michael Scanlan for fifteen years (1986-2000). During that time, primarily through utilization of von Hildebrand’s approach to philosophy, the philosophy department has grown from 2 majors to over 150 majors, plus 40 students in a Master of Arts in Philosophy program. Dr. Healy received his doctorate from the University of Dallas, studying under Josef Seifert and John F. Crosby, two of Dietrich von Hildebrand’s most preeminent disciples. Dr. Healy and his wife Maria are the proud parents of five children.