I had the pleasure of attending a two-day interfaith convening at the Kaufmann Interfaith Institute, housed at Grand Valley State University in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The theme for the convening, Exploring Language for Pluralism and Human Flourishing set, then unfurled, the frontier for the power of language in communicating meanings that reside at the side of the unsaid in the world’s religious traditions. Ironically, these are meanings that because, not despite, of their ineffability unfold into a deluge of stories and histories. In turn, while the apparent conversation revolved around what to say and not to say in interreligious dialogue, what remained rich in the silence was the fragile power of language in communicating transcendence.
The convening brought together religious leaders from a wide variety of religious traditions that problematize any attempt to categorize as strictly monotheistic or otherwise. It was not only representatives from the Muslim, Christian or Jewish faiths, usually designated as ‘people of the book or Abrahamic faiths’, but also devotees in Hinduism and those who practice a myriad of spiritual traditions that defy classification. This ambivalence was powerful and set ablaze the spirit of the convening, but it was also performed in the ether of the very space of the institute. This is the theme I will return to shortly.
Wittgenstein has famously described the boundaries of language as the ‘walls of our cage’. It is at moments such as these, in such a convening, that humanity can – at least – learn how to escape this prison. These are not moments of simply foregoing language altogether, but rather how to push, inundate and overload language to say more than it can. This is a matter of drawing attention to what is usually forgotten as conversations turn into memories then memoirs. This is a moment of reckoning, as humanity comes to terms with the fact that for the last few centuries we have been indoctrinated into constraining the meanings of words within the confines of grammar, neglecting the shapes of letters and their sounds as visceral vehicles for meaning.
It is from this perspective that this interfaith convening performed brilliantly at the intersection of the ‘unsaid’, or as T.S. Eliot famously described it: “The intersection of the timeless with time”, which he dubbed ‘an occupation for the saint’. This manifested most clearly in a lingering with emotions as a form of expression. Euphoric laughter filled our conversations at moments of unexpected memories that attendees shared together. But also, a few words were birthed regarding the power of tears in tearing and searing through discomfort. As I sat, experienced, shared, listened and often tried to lessen my own voice to appreciate the full experience of this convening, I could not help but notice that it was actually the physical space of the institute that helped inaugurate this entire gathering.
I immediately ingested this aura after introducing myself to the group, highlighting my investment in the ‘intersection of spirituality and creativity in contemporary culture’, the mission statement of my nonprofit organization Adhwaq. As I looked up at one of the walls of the institute, I noticed an abstract painting that majestically performed a collision of colors. Reds, blues, greens and yellows contend with one another to form a cohesive and harmonious circle; one that sings interfaith in a unity barely holding together, like a fragile and beauty-filled brokenness. There is an expanse to the rectangular shaped space of Kaufman Institute. This is an amorphous place that pays homage to a horizon in time and space, yet flirts with endless possibilities of configuration.
At one point, one half of the space becomes a meditative labyrinth. At another moment it becomes a timeline of opinions, yet another it is a place of boundless conversations between four walls. As breaths interweave with the fragrance of coffee and food, connections are made and memories exchanged. After all, this is the real objective of a convening, to entertain the idea of conversion through conversation. But this space, at this moment in time when and where this convening is held, is also a very Metamodern performance. This is a proposition that returns us to Wittgenstein’s ‘walls of our cage’, the boundaries of language and the myriad of ways in which these walls can be broken or rearranged.
We ended the convening with an activity and speech act, where each participant shared a verse or line from a favorite novel or scripture that summarizes, rather performs, the power of language in interreligious dialogue. It required no reflection on my behalf to choose the Qur’anic verse (55:19-20): “He merged the two seas they meet. Between them is an interstice, they do not transgress”. For it is this very verse that forms the foundation of paradox in Islamic mysticism (Sufism), and also dances into life an embodiment of the space embracing Kaufman Institute. This was an experience that showed how space is transformed into a place: through memories and storytelling.
We also discussed the power of etymology throughout this convening, cherishing the interlingual dances between the English ism (ideology) and its Arabic counterpart ism (name). Now, I am also reminded of the connection between hayra (perplexity and paradox) and hayr (fortress and haven). The importance of this convening stems from the space that embraced it, a fluctuating place that allows for paradox and perplexity to breathe and for wonder to wander here and there, in the emptiness between the art on the walls and silence between human conversations. Another relative here to hayra and hayr is hurriyya (freedom), a cherished treasure that is lost in warfare yet found in fragile spaces like this.
I look forward to returning to another convening at Kaufman in June, on the theme of Critical Hope: Envisioning the Future of Interfaith. I’m eager to further reflect on this beautiful space in the heart of a campus with stories being told and molded, as well as a moment of interfaith, and hope, in our larger chasm of time and history.
Comments