Key Themes for the Study of Islam

Jamal J. Elias

• Publisher: Oneworld Publications
• Year: 2014
• eBook ISBN: 9781780746845
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Islamic Theology

"Key Themes for the Study of Islam" examines the central themes and concepts indispensable to an informed understanding of Islamic religion and society. From Gender and History to Prayer and Prophecy, each authoritative chapter focuses on a single aspect of the religion and presents a critical discussion written by a world expert in that field. Exposing as false the idea that Islam and Muslims are incomprehensible to Western culture, this book will become the first choice for students and experts in religion from disparate fields, who wish to know how Islam relates to vital concepts in religion and society today.

1

ART
Kishwar Rizvi

ON CONTEXTS LOST AND FOUND

I began writing this essay while conducting research in Berlin, Germany. I thought about the subject of Islamic art and its history as I walked through the gates of the Mshatta façade (a palace originally in Jordan), and while gazing at the monumental Diez albums (consisting of drawings and paintings from the thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Ilkhanid period in Iran). The decontextualized objects in the Pergamon Museum (Museum of Islamic Art) and the State Library of Berlin, respectively, were potent reminders that much of the modern discourse on the arts of the Islamic world is situated in the Western hemisphere.¹ My sense of Babylonian confusion was not just owing to the experience of passing through the Assyrian Ishtar gates (also in the Pergamon Museum), nor through the negotiations undertaken in English, German, and Turkish that were part of my daily routine as I studied a Persian manuscript. The displacement in time is certainly one that most historians suffer, but the frustration of handling illustrated pages ripped out from books and of trying to read signatures and seals smudged and erased in the process of being sold to collectors and museums, makes the disjunction all the more difficult. It is particularly difficult when today the places where these works of art and architecture were originally made are in varying degrees of political apathy and self-destruction. Thus this essay was conceived through a disjunctive condition, one that forces me to question the role of language, culture, and modernity in the writing and studying of art in the Islamic world.

* * *

A definition of terms is immediately necessary. The question of what is Islamic art has been considered frequently and there are as many “sets” within which it can be placed as there are scholars writing about it. I consider the subject to contain works of art and architecture created by communities that identified with the religious praxis of Islam or were under the political influence of Muslim governments.² Thus one could include in such a comprehensive survey Hindu artists working in Mughal ateliers in Lahore, as well as contemporary mosques commissioned by Muslim communities in London. In the interest of economy I use an umbrella term, “Islamic Art,” to include the arts of depiction, calligraphy, and architecture in a variety of media.³ However, academics and practitioners at the beginning of the twenty-first century remain at a loss to define with any clarity, let alone unity, what may be the best strategies for understanding the multiple phenomena that may be gathered under the aegis of an Islamic art and its history.

The aim of this essay is to present Islamic art, but not through generalizations or overarching theories. Rather I would like to comment on certain issues that may be considered as exemplary. As previous scholars have noted, among the most interesting features of Islamic communities is their appropriation of forms and ideas from the various political and religious others with whom they came in contact. While searching for sources for Islamic art is an important exercise, it can sometimes be as esoteric a task as looking for uniqueness in the very subject. Another aspect that has been commonly noted is the diversity of the Islamic world and, by extension, the cultural artifacts produced in varying regions and at different historical periods. The contention of this essay is that works of art must be viewed not through generalizations alone, but through the particularities of their contexts, such as history and patronage, as well as on their own terms, that is through considerations of materiality and artistic intentionality.

SOME TRUISMS

Artistic production, by an individual or a group, is determined by numerous factors ranging from the practical to the arcane. Its definition is never static and neither are the categories that are meant to limit or characterize it. In the case of a religion spanning almost two millennia and encompassing almost every part of the globe, the question of “what is Islamic art” is particularly problematic. At the risk of contradicting myself, I would like to point to some truisms, with the caveat that their vagueness may render them anecdotal. Nonetheless, the following observations may serve as bases for the discussions that follow in which I will turn to more detailed critiques.

For most pre- and early modern societies, the arts of calligraphy were given the highest attention, at least in their representation in historical texts and literary anthologies. Starting with works attributed to ‘Ali bin Abi Talib (d. c. 661), the calligraphy of great masters such as Ibn Bawab (d. 1022) and Yaqut al-Mutasami (d. 1298) was studied, imitated, and emulated. Scholars have written on the importance of textual representation in Islamic art, owing to its associations with the divine words of God collected in the Qur’an.⁴ In addition, the intellectual climate of many of the courts that supported this art was one that valued literary excellence – thus poetry as well as Qur’anic verses were inscribed by the most esteemed calligraphers. Writing skillfully was considered by some as an act of devotion that brought the practitioner closer to God. Beautiful handwriting was also equated to high moral standing, the handwriting acting as an index of the practitioner’s character.

Calligraphers would compose illustrated manuscripts as well as design monumental epigraphy to be placed on buildings commissioned by the patron. The writing of calligraphy was a nuanced and complex undertaking in which shifting scales and functions defined the manner in which the works would be used and perceived. The artifacts on which the art was displayed, be they books or buildings, were valued for their beauty and for the skill of the master who had designed them. Yet, although often praised for technical finesse, the calligraphy was not simply a stringing together of words, but a well-thought-out endeavor in which the interaction between the reader, the calligrapher, and the object itself was one of intricate cultural negotiations and aesthetic choices.⁵

Works of art are powerful reminders of social complexity and caution us to look more closely at the objects themselves for clues to unraveling dogmatic ideologies and too-simple assumptions about religiosity. An obvious example is the existence of figurative art, despite discouragement in the form of prophetic traditions, or hadith. Although the traditions were often evoked in periods of aniconism and used to make the case for the destruction of works of art and science, the existence of a multitude of examples – from the earliest years of Islam until the present day – is a forceful argument for a more nuanced view of polemics and popular tradition.⁶

Illustrated manuscripts were important sources of knowledge and visual pleasure. Subjects such as astronomy and medicine, inherited from the Greek classical traditions, were followed by political, religious, and epic history in which the world was represented through the lens of imperial patronage. The complex nature of book production was evidenced in the manner in which calligraphers, painters, embellishers, and binders, among other skilled men, came together in what would be the imperial atelier or workshop (kitabkhana).⁷ In every book a conscious dialogue was underway with past masters, texts, and images. Although art historians often look for archaism or innovation in such works, it is perhaps more useful to move beyond simply recognizing these attitudes to discussing the motivation behind the choices made. The criteria of judging manuscripts, whether illustrated or not, were thus dependent on the particularities of the court and the historical moment in which they were produced.

Architecture is the most visible and widespread of the Islamic arts. Owing to the functional nature of its program and its rich symbolic potential, it incorporates simultaneously the idiosyncratic as well as the stereotypical. That is, a madrasa may be similar to others of its type in formal terms, but given the particularities of the piety that was enacted therein, it could be distinguished through numerous subtle and obvious ways. For example, it may be courtyard-centered like others in the region but its size and embellishment could convey important information about its significance to the community for whom it was built. The texts above the doors, windows, portals, and cornices would be inscribed with Qur’anic verses, some referencing its role as a place of study while others pointing to the specific school of theology espoused by the teachers. The texts may also include the names of patrons and builders, literally framing the structure with their ambitions and aspirations. These same facets could speak of social and religious exclusions, while at the same time making use of forms and techniques shared by other buildings of the time, be they secular or religious.

While deluxe books and precious wares were often restricted to courts and treasuries, architecture was built with a broader mandate. Palaces that were enclosed in citadels or situated in remote pastoral landscapes were themselves miniature cities that needed a diverse support system; in and around them would be incorporated mosques and mausolea, as well as large kitchens and housing for servants. Thus while the patrons of imperial architecture were from elite and wealthy circles, those who used the spaces were not always as privileged. Interestingly, it is not the palaces that have survived over time, but rather buildings made explicitly for public use, such as mosques and commemorative shrines. The practice of waqf, or perpetual endowment, that is at the heart of Islamic charity, assured that such institutions (for they were complex social and spatial aggregates) would enjoy prosperity and longevity.

Religious belief and practice defined much of what we identify as Islamic art. Yet seldom is Islamic art studied in relation to Islam – as practice or philosophy. Rather, it is seen as an intellectually edifying project, to be studied through post-European Enlightenment criteria of valuation and judgment. Such criteria, which include the individualism of the artist and the originality and authenticity of the work itself, are not always relevant to objects and buildings created for and in Muslim communities. It is rarely questioned why a historic building, for example, that is in constant use since its foundation and thus rebuilt every few years is seen as less of a work of art than an empty, if well-preserved, structure that has not been in use for centuries. The pre-eminence given to the “age-value” of objects, regardless of their value for the populations that use them today, defines one of the deep limitations of the scholarship on Islamic art.⁸ The point is not to state that older artifacts should not be preserved, but rather to suggest that the parameters for valuation be extended to include contemporary works of art that are responsive to current issues in both elite and populist public spheres.

What follows is a review of some of the methods that have been employed over the course of the last century, highlighting the most recent scholarship and offering some suggestions for further developing the study of Islamic art. Interspersed in this discussion will be consideration of works that best define the issues at stake, an approach that, I hope, will provide insight on the subject of Islamic art as well as the ways in which it has been studied at the time of production as well as in the present day.⁹ Recent scholarship attests that studies conducted through varied disciplinary locations add and enrich the whole complex of what may be considered the history of Islamic art. A primary concern for those writing about Islamic art in recent years has been to find a site where the material may have the most suitable intellectual companionship; that is, owing to the multi-disciplinary nature of much of art historical inquiry, does the subject belong in departments of history, religion, or anthropology; or Near Eastern and South Asian cultures and civilizations; or in departments of the history of art and architecture?¹⁰ As the discussion in this essay hopes to attest, inclusions and dialogue between fields are sources of intellectual and methodological enrichment that serve as models for future scholarship.

ON DIVERSITY IN SPACE AND TIME

Entry into the subject of art in Islam could be found through various means – the discussion could begin with the texts of Plato or Ibn al-‘Arabi or Mohammad Arkoun; the architecture cited could include the citadel in Cairo or the Taj Mahal mausoleum in Agra or the Ahmadiyya mosque in Berlin; the visual arts could be linked with Manichaean manuscripts from the ninth century, Jesuit art of the seventeenth century, or poster art of the Cuban revolution of the twentieth century. Bred into the study of Islamic art is the uncertainty that such a field exists, as witnessed by recent articles and books that profess to give hints to what it is and the many ways that it may be categorized and studied.¹¹ The setting of limits has traditionally been the way in which Islamic art has been characterized, based primarily on temporal and geographical exclusions. For example, although most surveys celebrate the regional breadth and historical depth of Islamic art and culture, major centers of production, say in Africa and South East Asia, are omitted. Furthermore, the histories of those that are included end in the eighteenth century, suggesting that modern colonial and nationalist art cannot be included in the more “traditional” categories.

There is an unquestioned and implicit belief in a unity in Islamic art, earlier manifested through the study of forms, and more recently in the assertion of a shared cultural heritage. What, one may ask, is the common thread between a brocade fashioned for a Fatimid caliph (tenth-century Egypt) and an Anatolian prayer rug (nineteenth-century Turkey), other than the shared medium? Taken further, what would be the connection between either of these objects and an illuminated Ilkhanid Qur’an (fourteenth-century Iran)? How can one begin to describe a history in the absence of a focal point in which to begin the writing of that history? Whose manner of writing shall I adopt; whose voice shall gain precedence? Should I write of the Andalusian poet who described the great palace of Alhambra or the Iranian chronicler who described the miracles enacted at the thresholds of a shrine’s kitchen? Shall I, too, describe the great domes of Ottoman mosques or the water cascading through a Mughal garden? What would be the effect of these ruminations?

The aim is not to find parallels between any regionally and historically disparate works of art (some may even question whether the term art is appropriate), but to begin by questioning why they could all simultaneously allow us access into a world breaching almost two millennia and five continents. There are cer...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Contributors
• Introduction
• 1. Art
• 2. Authority
• 3. Belief
• 4. Body
• 5. Community
• 6. Culture
• 7. Death
• 8. Gender
• 9. God
• 10. History
• 11. Institution
• 12. Law
• 13. Modernity
• 14. Prayer
• 15. Prophecy
• 16. Ritual
• 17. Text
• 18. War
• 19. Word
• Notes
• Glossary
• Qur’anic References
• Index