"An Interfaith Dialogue"
Young newly arrived foreign students who could neither speak, read, nor write the language of the country where they were going to live or attend school could be placed in an intermediate educational setting that would help them adapt: the reception class*.
The diversity of ages, languages, cultures, and countries of origin was often a constant feature of these classes. What appeared to be a pedagogical difficulty was, in fact, an astonishing source of richness, both for the students and for the teacher.
Young people who had attended this type of class often retained a lasting memory of the experience. If, after completing their time in the reception class, they continued their education at the same school, they would sometimes knock on the teacher's door eager to see him again or to meet the new arrivals... If they unexpectedly had a free period, they could also ask the teacher for permission to sit at the back of the classroom, where they would do their own work while also observing what was happening during the lesson—permission that was rarely refused.
That is what two former students, two teenage girls, did one morning. One, Samira, was from the Maghreb and came from an Arab-Muslim cultural background; the other, Chelvi, came from an Asian country and was from a Hindu cultural background.
The group of newly arrived students was then engaged in an audiovisual language-learning lesson, and as part of it, each student was regularly called upon to speak. One of them, who came from the same country as Chelvi and, like her, was from a Hindu cultural background, was named Shivasuntar. I had got into the habit—something he did not mind—of calling him Shiva. After a while, this inevitably aroused Chelvi's curiosity. She took the risk of interrupting me and asked:
"Is his name really Shiva?"
"No," I replied. "His name is Shivasuntar, but I rather like this shortened version because Shiva is a nice god!"
This remark prompted Samira to join in, and the following brief exchange took place:
"Why is this god nice?"
"Because he has four arms!"
"That's not possible. This god doesn't exist. He's imaginary!"
"But all gods are imaginary!"
"Oh no! There is one god who is real: the God of the Muslims. He is real!"
"But all gods are real!"
She fell silent, and the lesson continued. I observed that I had offended neither her convictions nor her faith, nor those of Chelvi and Shivasuntar.
Without intending to, we had in fact rekindled a fundamental philosophical debate: the nature of the imaginary and the nature of reality.
Of course, it was neither the time nor the place to embark on such a discussion, nor even to have them read the beautiful text that had just come to mind: Voltaire's Prayer to God.
Voltaire, apostle of Tolerance and pioneer of "interfaith dialogue" in the Age of Enlightenment!
A dialogue that continues through images