By Maria Amir
If people are smart, religion and art can co-exist.
“It is the metaphysically given that must be accepted: it cannot be changed. It is the man-made that must never be accepted uncritically: it must be judged, then accepted or rejected and changed when necessary.”—Ayn Rand
Over the years I have encountered many a drawing room discussion bemoaning the fact that Islam is allegedly ‘anti-art’. The allegation generally stems from ignorance, as do most allegations, but the intonation persists. Many reformist Muslims have found it particularly challenging to reconcile their religion with their expression of it, especially when said expression seeks an artistic outlet.
The essential dilemma here lies in defining what, if anything, constitutes art. It is only in the past two centuries that the superlative East has become accustomed to taking all of its cues from the ‘Western World’, and sadly this trend has also infringed upon most definitions of self-expression. The irony this development poses is bitter at best.
Defining art is a notoriously difficult enterprise as it is, but for Muslims it also involves narrowing down what Islam is willing to acknowledge in the realm of aesthetics. The presumption separating religion and art on grounds that the former operates along set rules and patterns and the latter encapsulates the entire range of human expression, is an extremely simplistic view of both ‘art’ and ‘religion’. Traditionally, it may be said that the original patron of art in all societies has been religion, from the Catholic Church’s commissioning Michelangelo’s paintings in the 1500’s to Indian classical dance and raagas inspired by tales in the Ramaayan and Upanishads.
What most of us tend to overlook in our consideration of art and religion, is the fact that both overwhelmingly center on ‘expression’. The former navigates emotion and the latter devotion; neither of which can be completely separated from the other and in the case of Islam each informs the other. Many continue to posit the idea that reconciling the domain of aesthetics with religion is impossible, as aesthetics pertains to beauty for its own sake, whereas religion revolves around the glorification of God. Both assertions are fundamental and true, however one needs to take into account the fact that in the case of religion the concept of beauty is seldom, if ever, separated from anything. ‘Beauty’ is perceived to denote anything that complements or corresponds with God and his creation and thereby a believer’s art is often informed and directed by his or her belief.
This is not to say that conflict does not arise when this is not the case. In instances where a person’s religious faith conflicts with their definition of ‘freedom’, there is a potent divide between religion and art, as inherent oppositions are pit against each other. In several sufi traditions, the believer ‘seeks’ freedom within their belief in God whereas in secular traditions freedom is invariably located outside of this domain. Both tangents have little to do with dogma or affiliation and everything to do with perception. One’s art is essentially categorized by how one perceives it – as an expression of emotion or of faith – both of which can be interchangeable.
This conflict was first publicly alluded to when German philosopher Alexander Baumgarten formally developed the concept of ‘aesthetics’ in the 18th century. Baumgarten coined the term, deriving it from the Greek aisthanesthai (to perceive) and also clarified that aesthetics meant perception by means of the senses. The term was subsequently applied to the philosophical study of all the arts and manifestations of natural beauty, and came to be mainly associated with artistic creativity. In Islamic culture the term “aesthetics” never existed, nor any other term that might imply its meaning or significance. The contemporary Arabic term jamaliyyah, now synonymous with aesthetics is borrowed from the West and is defined as the ‘science of beauty’ or ilm al-jamal. This definition firmly grounds ‘beauty’ as a perceivable and definable component of the human condition: something that can be analysed and expressed not in the whole (reserved exclusively for divine creation), but in the sum of its parts (elements that combine to form harmony). This is perhaps why the most popular modes of Islamic art include calligraphy, architecture and poetry, all of which rely primarily on scale, proportion and depth that can be deconstructed ad infinitum. The Islamic tradition tends to circumvent the more subjective arts, which rely primarily on intuition and self-perpetuated emotion such as dance and music.
The idea of a center or axis is the key to decoding most Islamic art, according to Islamic scholar al Ghamidi, who draws the evocative corollary of the whirling Mevlevi dervishes; the pilgim’s tawaf around the Kabah and Islamic architecture and calligraphy’s predominant usage of the circle in its imagery. “I will not limit art to the pithy realm of ‘haraam’ and ‘halaal’ for that brings in too much literature and jurisprudence that we can never know definitively because much is left to interpretation,” he says. “What is for certain is the believer’s intention, if the artist’s heart, mind and will are centered towards God than his art will inevitably be Islamic.”
In Islam, neither the Quran nor the Prophetic tradition (sunnah) refers to art specifically. There were no treatises written expressly on Islamic aesthetics nor were express rules laid down for what constituted Islamic art and what didn’t. The religion binds art and faith together; and beauty is perceived to involve all things that please God. Within the framework of tradition, sufficient liberty is left for the artist to express him or herself but the exclusion clause remains, Islamic art must be in accordance with Islam.
Liberal scholars overwhelmingly avoid limiting art to a particular form of expression such as dance or music, as orthodox scholars such as al-Mawdudi categorically condemn most forms of such expression. What remains consistent however, is the call for God’s will to be taken into consideration in all forms of self-expression. Given that Muslims are ordered to consider God’s commandments in all aspects of their everyday life, striking a balance in artistic expression was not always considered the trying negotiation it is today.
One can, in large part, credit the recent conflict to globalization and capitalism. Both movements have integrated the world and its denizens in a manner where most individuals are shifting towards integration, not only of ideas but also of lifestyles. It is foreign dance and singing competitions that make young Muslims today seek to push the bar of what could (if possible), constitute ‘Islamic dance’ and ‘Islamic music’. Their plight is extremely complex as it seeks to challenge the boundaries of a religion that has long been interpreted by clerics and scholars who tend to enjoy upholding as many boundaries as they possibly can.
And yet, this is not the definitive nature of the religion itself. As mentioned earlier, Islamic theology has very little to say on specific forms of art and almost all interpretations of religious texts in this regard tend to revolve around interpretation via ijma and qiyas. These interpretations range widely from the Salafi, Wahabi and Deobandi to the Sufi and Barelvi schools of thought, with a veritable rainbow of individual recommendations in between.
Amid such a dilemma, one often ends up qualifying the art in question. The outward form, or dhahir, which underlines the quantitative and physical aspect that is obvious and readily intelligible is separated from the essential, qualitative aspect that is kept hidden, or inward, batin. The art of Islam is essentially a contemplative one, where the work of man will never equal the art of God but seeks only to emulate the shaping of human ambience. It is connected with the concept of ihsan as set forth in the Hadith of Gabriel narrated by Umar ibn al-Khattab, whereby the religion rests on three fundamental principles: Islam (submission to the Divine Will), Iman (faith), and Ihsan (spiritual virtue). Perhaps the most useful rules of thumb for comprehending Islamic art were put forth by the great jurist, theologian and sufi thinker al-Ghazali.
Ghazali writes of three types of beauty: The first is external physical beauty (dhahir) that he regards as the most debased ” . . . as to [mans] beauty, he is little more than nauseous matter covered with a fair skin. Without frequent washing he becomes utterly repulsive and disgraceful.” (Chapter I of Kimia al-Saadah (The Alchemy of Happiness).
The second type involves moral beauty (batin): “The former kind of man [a man who is only acquainted with sensuous delights], will say that beauty resides in red-and-white complexions, well-proportioned limbs, and so forth, but he will be blind to moral beauty, such as men refer to when they speak of such and such a man as possessing a beautiful character. Such love is directed not towards any outward form, but towards the inner character. Even when we wish to excite love in a child towards anyone, we do not describe their outward beauty or form, etc . . . but their inner excellences.”
The final variety is the spiritual; which he regards as the most sublime—”The heart of man has been so constituted by the Almighty that, like a flint, it contains a hidden fire which is evoked by music and harmony, and renders man beside himself with ecstasy. These harmonies are echoes of that higher world of beauty which we call the world of spirits; they remind man of his relationship to that world, and produce in him an emotion so deep and strange that he himself is powerless to explain it.”
Ultimately the supposed conflict between religion and art rests entirely on the individuals’ perceptions of both. Ayn Rand, in what is perhaps one of the most comprehensive modern treatises on the nature of Art ‘The Romantic Manifesto: A Philosophy of Literature’ stated “contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong.” This operative requirement can well be seen as a fundamental cornerstone in decoding the seemingly impossible choice of reconciling creative expression with religious devotion.
The individual that is religious will instinctively direct his or her art in the vein of verifying and/or expressing his or her faith. The individual that is not religious will denote his or her art from outside this scope and will no doubt find some other prism from which to view it for Rand prefaced her arguments with “Art is a selective re-creation of reality according to an artist’s metaphysical value-judgments.”
While many would consider taking a ‘to each their own’ approach on the veritable quicksand of loopholes that frames the discourse surrounding art in Islam as a cop out, the fact remains that there simply isn’t enough evidence to corroborate Islamic views on modern art. Islamic art has traditionally limited itself to matters that concern Islam and operates from within the religious framework. Modern and postmodern artistic endeavors seldom bother to take traditional aesthetic models into account. The debate comes back to the individual artist’s approach towards reformation. There are those artists who wish to explore and push the boundaries of their faith and art and those that consider this a violation.
At the end of the day, the aesthetic of belief is entirely dependent on the individual’s personal interpretation of their religion. Ironically, the same tends to be true for the aesthetic of creativity.
