Is Poetry the Native Language of Dialogue?
In order to elaborate a culture of dialogue, one path seems to me essential. I would like to sum it up in this formula: “Poetry, the native language of dialogue”. By this I mean that poetry is a form of language that lends itself to dialogue. Poetry is a language-form that points towards that which is open, to what cannot be said, to what cannot be grasped, to the mystery that surpasses us. The poet is one who takes words very seriously and yet, at the same time, remains conscious of their poverty and of their limitations. Respect for words goes hand in hand with respect for the other and the mystery of the other.
The Words of Marie Noël
One of Marie Noël’s texts, dating from the years 1920-1930, had the effect of a revelation upon me. Its title is “Intellectual Relations between Catholics and Non-Catholics”. The text is thus directly related to the question of dialogue with the other (the “non-Catholic”). With refined precision the poet puts her finger on a fault that she feels is all too common in Catholicism. No doubt it required the sensitivity of a poet to feel it and express it in such a forceful way.
This text is exceptionally powerful; it needs to work in us like yeast.
What, in the first place, surprises us is the astounding virulence of Marie-Noël, this pious and well-behaved Catholic who is above suspicion. And yet she summons us Catholics to a conversion, to a purification of our sense of superiority: we possess the truth! This sin of self-sufficiency is so deeply rooted in our Catholic tradition. We have to struggle constantly and remain on our guard lest this inherited characteristic be revived, lest we be caught once again red-handed in judgment and contempt of others. On the threshold of each moment of dialogue, should we not perhaps envisage the asking of pardon? As Catholics, we cannot speak about dialogue while forgetting what we have been in the past and what, all too often, we still are today.
I say “we” because neither as an individual nor as a member of MID do I position myself above the fray; I stand united with my Catholic history. And in my own lived experience, I know to what extent I am “Catholic” in the disgraceful way Marie Noël describes. I imbibed this mind-set as an infant at the breast of Mother Church; to this day it still permeates different areas of my being.
This should not, however, obscure the point Marie Noël makes when she describes her own attitude, forward-looking and little understood perhaps: “Am I truly Catholic?” Let us listen attentively to the key words: to give/to receive. “I have given little . . . I have received much.”
On the threshold of all dialogue, we must inscribe, “I do not know”. I hold on to the questions that, in the expression of Guillevic, are still “untainted by answers”. “The unknown is our habitat”, says the same poet: yes, “our” habitat, the dwelling place of all of us, the place where we live together (as in the Greek word oikoumenia), that place where we can come together to try to dialogue before the mystery: “The mystery . . . requires openness / En route towards its borderless domain // If otherwise, it is no longer mystery / It has become a problem”.
I would like to mention here a number of believers and unbelievers, or rather—since I can no longer classify people in terms of believers and unbelievers—a number of human brothers and sisters: I think of Amin Maalouf or Enzo Bianchi, Edgar Morin, Comte-Sponville or Sylvie Germain… I shall limit myself to citing something Timothy Radcliffe said about prayer, a statement that seems so ordinary, and yet one that can transform a whole life:
Could it not be that we have something to receive from the “others”? What if it is they, the “others”, believers or “non-believers”, who were to teach us once again the meaning of mystery: “There will come a day when you will look for ignorance as water to quench your thirst”. And if this ‘ignorance’, recognized, admitted, and shared, were then to fill us with delight, to open wide our heart, enabling us to adhere to the mystery thus respected? Would not this be the way to joy, for “Joy lives by fresh air. Joy needs to breathe”. (Marie Noël, Notes Intimes)
In this way, “ignorance” can recall us to our own apophatic tradition. Having “received much” from them, we shall stand together with them before the “God who is ever greater”, before the Enigma.
Conclusion
Ecumenical dialogue, dialogue with other religions, dialogue with non-believers: these three levels are clearly seen to be increasingly interdependent; they all go together. All three presuppose an inner attitude of welcoming, cleansed of all arrogance.
Then shall we be able truly to say with Marie Noël: “Every living being is my equal. To the best of my ability I have given to all the little light I had, but I have also—and from all manner of people—received much”. Then will we be able to make our own the song of Guillevic:
Earth, you have created us
To be the nomads whom you bear,
Uncertain about our place,
Uncertain about our journey,
In order to know who we are,
We take up the song. (Guillevic, Sphère)
With the harp I will solve my problem. (Psalm 49)
The Words of Marie Noël
One of Marie Noël’s texts, dating from the years 1920-1930, had the effect of a revelation upon me. Its title is “Intellectual Relations between Catholics and Non-Catholics”. The text is thus directly related to the question of dialogue with the other (the “non-Catholic”). With refined precision the poet puts her finger on a fault that she feels is all too common in Catholicism. No doubt it required the sensitivity of a poet to feel it and express it in such a forceful way.
Within the Catholic there lies a being who is satisfied, superior—one who possesses the truth—filled with sureness and certitude. If he condescends to another way of thinking—he condescends—it is to save that way of thinking, that is, to woo it, seduce it, win it over for God. This other way of thinking is nothing other than an object of compassion or of conquest. He loves it because he is merciful; because he has faith, he despises it.
There is no possibility for any give and take. A Catholic bestows; he does not receive.
In this regard I am not a very good Catholic. Every living being is my equal. To the best of my ability I have given to all the little light I had, but I have also—and from all manner of people—received much.
Did I truly have the faith? (Notes Intimes, p. 85-86)
This text is exceptionally powerful; it needs to work in us like yeast.
What, in the first place, surprises us is the astounding virulence of Marie-Noël, this pious and well-behaved Catholic who is above suspicion. And yet she summons us Catholics to a conversion, to a purification of our sense of superiority: we possess the truth! This sin of self-sufficiency is so deeply rooted in our Catholic tradition. We have to struggle constantly and remain on our guard lest this inherited characteristic be revived, lest we be caught once again red-handed in judgment and contempt of others. On the threshold of each moment of dialogue, should we not perhaps envisage the asking of pardon? As Catholics, we cannot speak about dialogue while forgetting what we have been in the past and what, all too often, we still are today.
I say “we” because neither as an individual nor as a member of MID do I position myself above the fray; I stand united with my Catholic history. And in my own lived experience, I know to what extent I am “Catholic” in the disgraceful way Marie Noël describes. I imbibed this mind-set as an infant at the breast of Mother Church; to this day it still permeates different areas of my being.
This should not, however, obscure the point Marie Noël makes when she describes her own attitude, forward-looking and little understood perhaps: “Am I truly Catholic?” Let us listen attentively to the key words: to give/to receive. “I have given little . . . I have received much.”
On the threshold of all dialogue, we must inscribe, “I do not know”. I hold on to the questions that, in the expression of Guillevic, are still “untainted by answers”. “The unknown is our habitat”, says the same poet: yes, “our” habitat, the dwelling place of all of us, the place where we live together (as in the Greek word oikoumenia), that place where we can come together to try to dialogue before the mystery: “The mystery . . . requires openness / En route towards its borderless domain // If otherwise, it is no longer mystery / It has become a problem”.
I would like to mention here a number of believers and unbelievers, or rather—since I can no longer classify people in terms of believers and unbelievers—a number of human brothers and sisters: I think of Amin Maalouf or Enzo Bianchi, Edgar Morin, Comte-Sponville or Sylvie Germain… I shall limit myself to citing something Timothy Radcliffe said about prayer, a statement that seems so ordinary, and yet one that can transform a whole life:
Should we not perhaps abandon a certain way of thinking of God as a very affectionate yet invisible person, so as to rediscover him as the mystery who is at the heart of our existence and who offers us this existence at every moment? (I Call You Friends, p. 111)
Could it not be that we have something to receive from the “others”? What if it is they, the “others”, believers or “non-believers”, who were to teach us once again the meaning of mystery: “There will come a day when you will look for ignorance as water to quench your thirst”. And if this ‘ignorance’, recognized, admitted, and shared, were then to fill us with delight, to open wide our heart, enabling us to adhere to the mystery thus respected? Would not this be the way to joy, for “Joy lives by fresh air. Joy needs to breathe”. (Marie Noël, Notes Intimes)
In this way, “ignorance” can recall us to our own apophatic tradition. Having “received much” from them, we shall stand together with them before the “God who is ever greater”, before the Enigma.
Conclusion
Ecumenical dialogue, dialogue with other religions, dialogue with non-believers: these three levels are clearly seen to be increasingly interdependent; they all go together. All three presuppose an inner attitude of welcoming, cleansed of all arrogance.
Then shall we be able truly to say with Marie Noël: “Every living being is my equal. To the best of my ability I have given to all the little light I had, but I have also—and from all manner of people—received much”. Then will we be able to make our own the song of Guillevic:
Earth, you have created us
To be the nomads whom you bear,
Uncertain about our place,
Uncertain about our journey,
In order to know who we are,
We take up the song. (Guillevic, Sphère)
With the harp I will solve my problem. (Psalm 49)
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