‘And part not with my revelations for a trifling price’: Reconceptualizing Islam’s Aniconism through the lenses of reification and representation as meaning-making

Abstract

This article contends that Islamic prohibitions on certain types of figural imagery serve a dual function. In addition to fulfilling their traditional Islamic role related to preserving Allah’s sovereignty, such prohibitions also facilitate in preventing Islam’s essential message from being transformed via crass and sentimentalist reproductions of its most sacred symbols and figures. The article first defines the term ‘icon’ and then engages with the more recent discourse surrounding representation as meaning-making. It then connects Islamic aniconism to Marxist and post-structuralist concerns related to reification, commodification, and the transformation of sacred symbols into forms of personal property. The final part of this article engages with the rulings of Yusuf al-Qaradawi and Taha Jabir al-Alwani regarding figural imagery to show that these prohibitions are not absolute and that there are varying degrees of acceptability based on form, content, and purpose.

Introduction

Efforts to theorize about blasphemy and liberalism, acceptable forms of expression, and visual depictions of the sacred within Islam continue to garner immense interdisciplinary interest (Asad et al., 2009; Dunkel and Hillard, 2014; Joppke 2014; March, 2011; Sturges, 2015; Tate, 2016). Demeaning images of the Prophet Mohammed published by the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten in 2005 caused global outrage. Saba Mahmood reported that while doing fieldwork in Egypt three years after the incident, one older man commented to her:

I would have felt less wounded if the object of ridicule were my own parents. And you know how hard it is to have bad things said about your parents, especially when they are deceased. But to have the Prophet scorned and abused this way, that was too much to bear! (2009: 846)

In 2012, a well-publicized incident of US soldiers burning Qur’ans in Afghanistan also provoked mass demonstrations and even violence. The Qur’an burnings sparked far more outrage amongst Afghans than even some of the most egregious acts of violence perpetrated against their fellow countrymen, including the mass murder of sixteen innocent civilians by a US soldier that same year.

While such intense levels of anger about offensive cartoons or burnt books may seem shocking to the casual reader, to one more intimately familiar with Islam’s explicit juridical stipulations regarding how to properly treat the sacred, such a visceral response should not be so shocking. Contemporary Islamic scholar Yusuf Ahmad Muhammad al-Badawi comments that: ‘Defaming religion and casting ugly aspersions on the Prophet so that people will have an aversion towards him is amongst the greatest of corruptions’ (2000: 455; cited in March, 2011: 812). The ritualistic function of Islam’s holy text in many places is still as strong as it was fourteen centuries ago even though the desecrated Qur’ans in Afghanistan were all, in the most literal sense, reproductions that were certainly produced for little more than a few cents each. One must first have a basic understanding of Islam’s discursive juridical and ontological framework in order to understand how this text and other sacred Islamic figures and objects have maintained their ritualistic function.

Within the purview of traditional Islamic scholarship, much ink has been spilled explicating how certain types of imagery are an affront to Allah’s sovereignty and open the door to polytheism. However, this article contends that there is another way to understand Islam’s approach to visual representations. There exists a notable lacuna in the recent literature related to this matter. Western scholarship on Islam and visual representations has primarily been issue-based, focusing on blasphemy laws (Sturges, 2015), toleration/integration (Joppke, 2014; Tate, 2016), cultural imperialism (Asad, et al., 2009), or individual/group responses to sacred or blasphemous imagery (Dunkel and Hillard, 2014; March, 2011). There have not been any serious efforts to conceptualize Islam’s aniconism more broadly through the lenses of any recognizable, non-theological philosophical frameworks.

Drawing from Marxist and post-structuralist commentaries, this article will reconceptualize Islam’s aniconism via the lenses of reification and representation as meaning-making. By considering Islam’s aniconism in this manner, one can begin to understand it from a more practical, real-world perspective and avoid unwieldy accounts of it from a purely theological line of argumentation that is difficult to digest for many non-religious observers. This article will show that one can tease out a type of overlapping consensus regarding representation as meaning-making that can be found within both Islamic and secular discursive frameworks. Such an approach can help bridge the gap between the seemingly irreconcilable positions of secular observers who see Islam’s prohibitions on certain types of imagery as merely outdated superstition and Muslims who believe that the secular world simply will never ‘get it’ due to their inherent antipathy towards the sacred.

Following a brief introduction about icons and the function of visual artifacts, the ideas of Plato, Deleuze and Baudrillard are engaged with regarding representation and meaning-making. The concluding sections of this article look more specifically at Islam’s aniconism. These sections engage with primary Islamic sources and more recent religious edicts (fatāwā) offered by Yusuf al-Qaradawi and the late Taha Jabir al-Alwani that take moderate positions on this issue recognizing that form, content, and context all matter when considering whether an image is permissible.

One of the leitmotifs of this article is the concept of reification. Reification can be essentialized ‘as the transformation of a subject into an object’ (Tok and Kaminski, 2019: 699). Gajo Petrović offered a more concise definition of reification defining it as; ‘The act (or result of the act) of transforming human properties, relations and actions into properties, relations and actions of man-produced things which have become independent (and which are imagined as originally independent) of man and govern his life’ (1991: 463). The process of cultural reification more specifically can be understood as the erosion of the subjective quality inherent within a work of art (or religious artifact for that matter) into a commodity in which its value is measured in terms exogenous to the work itself; often measured in terms primarily related to economic utility.

Hegel was one of the first scholars to hint at the notion of reification in his writings, most specifically in his analysis of the beobachtende Vernunft in the Phenomenology of mind which roughly translates to the observation of reason ‘or in his analysis of property in Philosophy of right’ (Petrović, 1991: 463). However, Karl Marx is widely credited with first introducing the concept of reification which is implicit in his early manuscripts, but is made more explicitly in his later writings, most specifically, in Book III, Ch. 48 of Capital:

In capital-profit, or still better capital-interest, land-rent, labour-wages, in this economic trinity represented as the connection between the component parts of value and wealth in general and its sources, we have the complete mystification of the capitalist mode of production, the reification [Verdinglichung] of social relations and immediate coalescence of the material production relations with their historical and social determination. (cited in Petrović, 1991: 463)

György Lukács (1971 [1923]) expanded on Marx’s points arguing that reification and commodity fetishism were unique problems that were inextricable from modern capitalism (Honneth, 2008; Tok and Kaminski, 2019). According to Lukács; ‘The essence of the commodity-structure has often been pointed out. Its basis is that a relation between people takes on a character of a thing and thus acquires a ‘phantom objectivity,’ an autonomy that seems so strictly rational and all-embracing as to conceal every trace of its fundamental nature: the relation between people’ (1971 [1923]: 83). Reification is ubiquitous in modern life for Lukács and cannot be explained via any type of quantitative analytics. His general claim can be aptly summarized by Marx’s well-known line from the Communist manifesto – ‘All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober sense, his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind’ (1978 [1848]: 476). This article will demonstrate that while contemporary concerns with reification are certainly framed differently, nonetheless in many ways, Islam was (and still is) also cognizant of the broader themes non-religious thinkers grapple with today regarding reification, representations, and meaning-making.

Icons, culture, and visual artifacts

The word icon derives from the Greek word εἰκών and simply means ‘image.’ However, icons today generally refer more specifically to images of the sacred that are often meant to be venerated. The influential mid-twentieth century theologian Vladimir Lossky argued that; ‘Icons impinge on our consciousness by means of the outer senses, presenting to us the same suprasensible reality in “esthetic” expressions. . .’ (1974: 167). For him, icons serve as a causeway between the realms of the sacred and the profane.

Gillian Rose’s spectator-based view of image posits that images are made by the spectator. She contends that ‘writers on visual culture. . . are concerned not only with how images look, but how they are looked at,’ and that for them, ‘what is important about images is not simply the image itself, but how it is seen by particular spectators who look in particular ways’ (2001: 11–12). Her position differs from other theorists of visual imagery such as Henri Bergson and Giles Deleuze who posit that there is no spectator – for them, image is not something looked at, rather it enables perception. The spectator plays an essential role in teasing out and ultimately helping determine the meaning of any visual representation for Rose; images and representations more generally never simply speak for themselves.

Stuart Hall’s psychoanalytically inspired Marxist approach similarly comments that culture

is not so much a set of things – novels and paintings or TV programmes or comics – as a process, a set of practices. Primarily, culture is concerned with the production and exchange of meanings – the ‘giving and taking of meaning’ – between the members of a society or group. (1997: 2)

Hall understood culture as a complex, intertwined network of practices and meanings that are constantly being redefined and rearticulated by various actors endogenous and exogenous to a discourse. As a result, images are powerful and play a fundamental role in constructing human experience and the physical world more generally.

In Western culture, seeing is part in parcel to knowledge itself. Chris Jenks comments that ‘the modern world is very much a ‘seen’ phenomenon’ (1995: 1). This is a point that will be explored in greater detail later when discussing Alwani’s fatwā regarding a depiction of the Prophet Mohammed in the United States Supreme Court. Jenks perspective on the interplay between image and subject resonates with Rose’s claim that; ‘Taking an image seriously, then, also involves thinking about how it positions you, its viewer, in relation to it’ (2001: 12). More recently when responding to the aftermath of the Danish cartoon controversy, Mahmood argued that people must understand that icons go beyond just referring to a physical image or object. Like Rose and Hall, Mahmood contends that icons should be conceived of as ‘a form of relationality that binds the subject to an object’ (2009: 845). She contends than an icon

refers not simply to an image but to a cluster of meanings that might suggest a persona, an authoritative presence, or even a shared imagination. In this view, the power of an icon lies in its capacity to allow an individual (or a community) to find oneself in a structure that influences how one conducts oneself in this world. (2009: 845)

Icons possess their own semiotics and by their very nature always go beyond the mere physical embodiment of any particular object. They carry with them their own sources of meaning and value which interacts with the viewer’s own subjective emotional and intellectual categories, thus ultimately influencing real world human thought and action.

Visualized images therefore are not reducible to simple and straightforward linguistic interpretations. WJT Mitchell comments that; ‘Vision is as important as language in mediating social relations, and it is not reducible to language, to the “sign,” or to discourse’ (2005: 47). Visual images, via the interpretative process of the spectator, create their own sources of extra-linguistic meaning. For example, seeing the physical artifact of a crucifix should not be simply understood as something that can be reduced to the word ‘crucifix’ and its incumbent dictionary definition. An array of feelings, emotions, historical, and personal attachments come with the visage of any particular crucifix since no two unique artistic portrayals of the crucifix are exactly the same thus profoundly expanding the repertoire of meaning that generally is attached with the word ‘crucifix’ in its detached, formalistic sense.

Plato, Deleuze, and Baudrillard on representations and simulacra

Islam’s sacred symbols, while not necessarily entirely fixed, nonetheless are meant to retain some level of epistemic and ritualistic stability. Reproducing imagery that is believed to be an extension of the sacred only further muddies the waters and adds another level of separation between the individual and the authentic mimetic experience. One of Plato’s concerns in the Sophist was with the degradation that occurs via different modes of representation.

The interlocutors in this dialogue discuss two different kinds of image making: ‘likeness-making and apparition-making’ (2015: §236c5). Likenesses maintain ‘the proportions of the original in terms of length and breadth and depth,’ whereas apparition-making involves the use of illusion and changes to proportion in order to elicit a response from the viewer (2015: §235e1). Artists are more inclined to engage in apparition-making which is described as ‘a human sort of production marked off from its divine counterpart’ (2015: §268d1). Deleuze argues that for Plato the quality of an image ‘is judged in terms of a derived internal resemblance’, and that ‘the true Platonic distinction. . .is not between the original and the image but between two kinds of images [idoles], of which copies [icones] are only the first kind, the other being simulacra [phantasmes]’ (1994: 127). This is to suggest that there is a difference between ‘good’ images or those which are faithful to the original idea, and ‘bad’ images that distort meaning and lead the viewer astray.

The function of the notion of the model is not to oppose the world of images in its entirety but to select the good images, the icons which resemble from within, and eliminate the bad images or simulacra. Platonism as a whole is erected on the basis of this wish to hunt down the phantasms or simulacra which are identified with the Sophist himself, that devil, that insinuator or simulator, that always disguised and displaced false pretender. (Deleuze, 1994: 127)

Deleuze understood the simulacrum as ‘an image without resemblance’ (1990: 295). While Plato saw two different types of representation – those that were faithful to the original model and those that were intentionally distorted (i.e., the simulacrum) – Jean Baudrillard (1994) saw the simulacrum as not merely a distortion of the real, but rather as the creation of a new reality altogether or the hyperreal. Hyperreality occurs when the virtual fuses with the real and the distinction between fiction and reality becomes blurred or lost.

Here we can see the link between post-structuralist commentaries on the simulacra and Marxist discourses regarding reification and commodification. Hyperreality has a profoundly denaturing effect on the intensity of an experience and facilitates in commodification and reification. ‘It becomes something “cool” – stripped of intense affective energies and the power of the symbolic and of fantasy’ (Robinson, 2012). The denigration of representation occurs in four steps for Baudrillard: first as a ‘reflection of a profound reality’; second as something that ‘masks and denatures a profound reality’; third as something that ‘masks the absence of a profound reality’; and finally, as something that ‘has no relation to any reality whatsoever: it is its own pure simulacrum’ (1994: 6). At the point of pure simulation, Baudrillard argues that ‘there is no longer a God to recognize his own, no longer a Last Judgment to separate the false from the true, the real from its artificial resurrection, as everything is already dead and resurrected in advance’ (1994: 6). Authenticity and aura are not merely altered at the point of pure simulation; at this point they simply do not exist at all. The original reality becomes its own myth or for Baudrillard a myth about what was already likely a myth in the first place.

Via this theoretical framework concerning representation and its degenerate forms, one can better understand Islam’s rejection of certain types of imagery, most specifically, those aimed at reproducing the sacred. It is a slippery slope from a visual representation of the Prophet as being a basic reflection of reality to one being a phantasm that has little or no relation to reality at all. One can look at the litany of different representations of Jesus Christ over the past two millennia and see representations of him ranging from Raphael’s majestic Transfiguration painting to cheap plastic figurines that are sold at carnivals that are often seen on the dashboards of automobiles.

Typical icons within the broader Christian tradition include things such as paintings or statues depicting Jesus Christ, along with the Virgin Mary, saints, and angels. Though less pronounced than with Islam, aniconism was also a part of earlier Christianity. Notable examples included Byzantine iconoclasm in the eighth century and periods of iconoclasm following the Protestant Reformation in the sixteenth century. David Freedberg argued that during the reformation, iconoclasm spread across Europe ‘with a vigour that was as great as anything in the eighth and ninth centuries, and with a polemical backing that was perhaps even greater’ (1977: 165). Nonetheless, Martin Luther himself was supportive of icons commenting that; ‘If it is not a sin but good to have the image of Christ in my heart, why should it be a sin to have it in my eyes?’ (cited in Belting, 1994: 549). The Catholic Church has also long supported religious icons. In 1997 Pope John Paul II reminded Catholics that:

The Second Council of Nicaea does not only affirm the legitimacy of images, but seeks to describe their usefulness for Christian piety: ‘Indeed, the more often these images are contemplated, the more those who look at them are brought to remember and desire the original models and, in kissing them, to show them respect and veneration.’ (1997: 2)

Icon veneration is also a rudimentary element of the Eastern Orthodox Church’s doxology (Skedros, 2012). While one can argue that religious icons facilitate in a believer’s own remembrance and worship, on the other hand, one can also argue that such icons not only open the door to idolatry, but also to commodification and reification.

While many Christians today wager that sacred images facilitate in remembrance and worship rather than impinge upon it, Baudrillard argues that most religions actually have an even more serious ‘wager on representation’ regarding imagery:

But what if God himself can be simulated, that is to say can be reduced to the signs that constitute faith? Then the whole system becomes weightless, it is no longer itself anything but a gigantic simulacrum – not unreal, but a simulacrum, that is to say never exchanged for the real, but exchanged for itself, in an uninterrupted circuit without reference or circumference. (1994: 5)

Baudrillard believed that the earlier iconoclasts were concerned with simulacra effacing ‘God from the conscious of man’ but not because these images merely obfuscate the Platonic notion of God. He contends that if this were the case iconoclasts would have been able to tolerate sacred images, however they were not. The iconoclasts and priests themselves feared that people would one day realize ‘that God himself was never anything but his own simulacrum’ (1994: 4). Baudrillard’s assertion here is too myopic – it seems quite reasonable for one who believes in the divinity of their religion to be deeply concerned with misleading imagery obfuscating the univocal divine nature of God. It is improbable that some religious people are critical of graven imagery due to deep-seated fears that ‘the secret’ of their God’s non-existence might eventually be revealed. It also begs the question: how does one explain Islam’s aniconism towards not just God and the purely divine, but also towards the Prophet Mohammed and lesser beings believed to possess a soul? Such aniconism goes further than Baudrillard’s claim’s about aniconists seeking to avoid having to come to terms with their own myths.

One can immediately see the problem that arises with certain images and icons within the Islamic Weltanschauung. The Qur’an does represent other worldliness, and via the dialectical interaction between subject and object, the worldly icon or image impinges upon the subject’s direct experience of the Qur’an and the individual transcendent experience of God. Prohibitions on the reproduction of certain types of imagery that is widely articulated within the Sunnī discourse are meant to preserve the sanctity and uniqueness of all beings created by God that possess a soul. ¹ It also is meant to remind Muslims that they can only create unworthy reproductions of the things God has already created. Such man-made recreations take away from the reverence of the original objects—not only are such recreations themselves commodified, but eventually so too are one’s own experiences.

Fredric Jameson offers an easily recognizable illustration of the commodification of contemporary daily life experiences via his example of the tourist who takes photographs while on vacation:

the American tourist no longer lets the landscape ‘be in its being’ as Heidegger would have said, but takes a snapshot of it, thereby graphically transforming space into its own material image. (1979: 131)

He explains that a snapshot cannot authentically replicate the actual physical experience of being in a certain place at a certain time.

The concrete activity of looking at a landscape-including, no doubt, the disquieting bewilderment with the activity itself, the anxiety that must arise when human beings, confronting the non-human, wonder what they are doing there and what the point or purpose of such a confrontation might be in the first place–is thus comfortably replaced by the act of taking possession of it and converting it into a form of personal property. (1979: 131)

It is the natural sense of bewilderment that one encounters when physically experiencing a new landscape that is essential to its ritualistic function. By taking possession of and converting the physical world into what Jameson calls a form of personal property, one mitigates the ritualistic function and more transcendental meaning of the experience itself. As anyone living in the age of the ‘selfie’ can tell you, one often spends more time thinking about how to take the perfect photograph of themselves in front of the Mona Lisa, rather than actually reflecting upon their real-time experience of it – often even as they are literally standing right in front of it.

Recent scientific inquiry backs up this hypothetical example. Soares and Storm’s experimental research verified their attentional-disengagement hypothesis that postulated that ‘when people take photos, they disengage from the moment to handle the task of capturing the object or experience, thus leading them to encode it less deeply or elaborately than they would have otherwise’ (2018: 155). They ran two different experiments with almost one-hundred participants regarding photo-taking and memory and concluded that their results were ‘consistent with the idea that photo-taking disrupts how people engage or encode the objects they are viewing’ (2018: 154). Perhaps a picture is not worth a thousand words after all.

The selfie spectacle has even reached Mecca. Sheikh Abdul Razzaq Al-Badr comments:

It is as though the only purpose of this trip [Ḥajj] is to take pictures and not worship. And when they return home they say: ‘Come look at me, this is me on Arafat, this is me in Muzdalifah! And we have seen some of the people when they are ready to take the picture they raise their hands in the appearance of humility, fear, and tranquility. And then after the picture is snapped they drop their hands. (Quraishi, 2013: online)

Islamic scholars have been quick to issue fatāwā condemning such behaviors understanding that the mimetic function of Ḥajj, which is meant to be an exercise of solemn personal reflection, is at risk of denigrating into a carnival-like experience if juridical action is not taken. The Qur’an warns against showing off in worship, and ar-Riya’ in general, which is understood as a type of arrogance – ‘So woe to the worshippers who are neglectful of their prayers; those who (want but) to be seen (of men)’ (Qur’an, 107: 4-6). Riya’ is derived from the word ru’ya, which means ‘seeing.’ Al-Ghazali (2008) talked in detail about the dangers of riya’. He divided it into five separate divisions. One of those divisions was Ar-riya’bil hayla which refers to carrying oneself in an ostentatious manner.

Yusuf al-Qaradawi and Taha Jabir al-Alwani weigh in on icons and imagery

It is important to note that the Qur’an does not explicitly forbid producing images of living beings believed to possess a soul; it only speaks about the dangers of idolatry. ² Figural imagery of the Prophet Mohammed during the Middle Ages could be found outside the Arab world, especially in less conservative Turco-Persian societies. However, as noted by Christiane Gruber, ‘depictions of the Prophet [from approximately 1200 CE onwards] developed from naturalism to abstraction – that is, from figural presence to physical absence’ (2019: 17). While earlier depictions showed the Prophet’s face, later medieval depictions began blotting out his face or showing it covered with a white veil. ³

Numerous Islamic ʾaḥādīth contend that the creation of certain images opens the door to disbelief. ⁴ Muslims consider worshiping graven images of any sort to be idolatry which is considered shirk and is one of Islam’s only unforgivable sins. ⁵ The word shirk in Arabic is often translated as polytheism which is the antithesis of Islam’s cardinal virtue, tawḥīd, which literally means ‘declaring that which is one.’ Shirk comes from the Arabic trilateral root, Š-R-K which has the general meaning of ‘to share.’ Shirk therefore literally means believing that something shares a place with Allah.

As noted earlier, creating such images has traditionally been viewed as an affront to Allah’s sovereignty and power. One of the better known ḥadīth narrated in Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, considered the most authentic of the six canonical authoritative collections of ʾaḥādīth (Al-Kutub as-Sittah), states; ‘Allah, Most High said: “And who is more unjust than those who try to create the likeness of My creation? Let them create an atom, or let them create a wheat grain, or let them create a barley grain”’ (v.9: no. 7559). Similarly, another ḥadīth in Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī reports: ‘Allah’s Messenger said, “Those who make these pictures will be punished on the Day of Resurrection, and it will be said to them. “Make alive what you have created”’ (v.7: no. 5951). These ʾaḥādīth are often understood within the Sunnī tradition as categorical injunctions against creating images of living things with souls.

Other ʾaḥādīth moved beyond the metaphysical and report visceral reactions by the Prophet himself when encountering certain types of imagery in his house:

Narrated ‘Āishah (R.A.): The Prophet (S.A.W.) entered upon me while there was a curtain having pictures in the house. His face became red with anger, and then he got hold of the curtain and tore it into pieces. The Prophet said, ‘Such people as paint these pictures will receive the severest punishment on the Day of Resurrection’ (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, v.8: no. 6109).

The multiple references in the ʾaḥādīth to restrictions on producing certain types of imagery demonstrate how serious Islam took this stipulation from its very beginnings.

The contemporary Egyptian clerical authority figure Yusuf al-Qaradawi issued his own rulings regarding the creation of images of living beings that are believed to possess a soul. He points out that photographs for legal identification documents are necessary in the modern age and therefore are permissible.

Even those who are very strict in classifying all kinds of figures, including photographs, as detestable, exempt, according to necessity, pictures retained for identity cards, passports, keeping a record of suspects and criminals, pictures for instructional purposes, and so on, with the provision that there is no intention of respect or sanctification of these pictures which would affect Islamic beliefs. (2001 [1960]: 113)

Qaradawi’s concern relates most specifically to objects meant to be venerated or even potentially worshipped. He makes it clear that such objects are strictly prohibited; ‘The most strictly prohibited figures are those which are made to be worshiped instead of or besides Allah (Glory be to Him)’ (2001 [1960]: 115). He goes on to note that statues are the most detestable. His ruling is primarily based on a ḥadīth found in Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, widely considered the second most authoritative collection of ʾaḥādīth, which unequivocally stipulates that all statues are to be destroyed: ‘Ali bin Abȋ Tâlib said to me: “Shall I not send you on the same mission as the Messenger of Allah () sent me (saying): ‘Do not leave any statue without destroying it nor any raised grave without levelling it”‘ (v.2: no. 969 [no. 2243]). One also only need to look to the great symbolic gesture on the part of the Prophet that was alluded to in the above ḥadīth in which after defeating the Meccan idolaters, he entered the Kaʿba and destroyed all the pagan idols as further historical evidence of Islam’s inherent antipathy towards statues.

Qaradawi offers four explanations as to why statues are totally forbidden: 1) because they lead to idolatry; 2) because the sculptor feels too much pride and this leads to his/her devaluing the creations of Allah; 3) because there are no limits—eventually nudes and other erotic figures become acceptable; and 4) because sculptures by their very nature usually are ostentatious displays of wealth. He also argues strongly against making busts of great figures in Islamic history.

The messenger of Allah (pbuh), the caliphs, the leaders, and the Imams of Islam were never immortalized in figures or statues. . .. When the greatness of some of these noble souls is recognized by the people, its perpetuation for coming generations is not to be achieved by erecting statues of them. The correct Islamic method of commemoration is to keep their memory alive in the hearts and minds by speaking about their good deeds, ideas, and achievements. (2001 [1960]: 102)

Qaradawi believes words have greater power than imagery to appropriately convey meaning. The differentiation between words and images will be discussed in much greater detail when looking at Alwani. Based on all the above given reasons, Qaradawi concludes that sculptures, busts, and other similar forms of art are always forbidden.

The next level of sinfulness according to Qaradawi is reserved for objects that ‘are intended to imitate Allah’s creation’, followed by public art displays or paintings meant to commemorate or exonerate leaders and celebrities. However, paintings of things like trees, ships, and buildings are permissible since they do not have souls. Another interesting thing about this ruling is his differentiation between the public and private spheres:

If we ponder over the matter objectively, we will undoubtedly conclude that it is more haram [forbidden] to set up busts in public places in order to perpetuate the memory of kings and great men than to have full figured statues in the home for the purpose of decoration. (2001 [1960]: 105)

One can readily see that Qaradawi is deeply concerned with public welfare (maṣlaḥa). A public statue of a great leader has a far more potentially detrimental impact on everyone else’s worship (‘ibāda) than does one in a private home.

The public/private distinction runs throughout much of Qaradawi’s line of argumentation on this topic. For example, he claims that toys made for children to play with at home, such as dolls, are acceptable, and relates a ḥadīth about the Prophet’s youngest wife, Aisha, who had a doll. ⁶ Such ‘low’ private objects are not meant to invoke any special feelings of veneration or worship, and are therefore not forbidden – ‘Children’s plaything such as dolls, in the form of humans, animals, and the like fall under this category [of being permitted]’ (Qaradawi, 2001 [1960]: 103). One can see how more traditional religious figures today, like Qaradawi, are still able to rationally discern the difference between broader religious goals and purposes (al-maqāṣid) and practical reality when it comes to this matter.

Qaradawi’s rational approach to images is further extended by Taha Jabir al-Alwani in a fatwā regarding a frieze in the United States Supreme Court that portrayed eighteen iconic world leaders from the past. Many Muslims were concerned about permissibility of a figural depiction of the Prophet Mohammed being portrayed in the north wall frieze of the Supreme Court building that included other lawgivers from the Middle Ages such as Justinian, Charlemagne and Louis IX. The Supreme Court frieze portrayal of the Prophet did not follow the standard protocol of depicting the Prophet’s face blotted out or hidden. ⁷

Alwani’s ruling was more nuanced and liberal than Qaradawi’s more conservative interpretation on the limits of depicting Islamic symbols and imagery. Alwani’s fatwā begins by contextualizing the frieze. He differentiates between Arabic culture which he describes as the culture of the word and Western culture which he describes as the culture of imagery; ‘Islamic civilization is one of expression and clarity, and it is the epitome of the culture of the Word’, and that Arabs ‘valued the Word more than images and statues’ (2001: 3). On the other hand, ‘In Western civilization, imagery and sculpture are paramount means of expressing sacred and centrally important truths’ (2001: 4). His argument about Western civilization and imagery resonates with contemporary Christianity’s view on this matter that, at least for the West, icons can facilitate in bringing a worshipper closer to God.

However, if one reads closely, Alwani’s more profound and philosophically interesting point is that ‘the word’ is superior to ‘the image’ – the latter without the former is incomprehensible. While one can have words without definitive images attached to them, one cannot have comprehensible images without words; ‘The “culture of the word” is thus the ultimate culture of abstraction, comprehension, transcendence, and limitless possibilities! Yet, the Word remains accessible to its students of all nations, and is abundantly available for everyone’s use in a diversity of contexts’ (Alwani, 2001: 4). While having a far more expansive repertoire of meaning than the culture of imagery, Alwani’s other thought-provoking point in this quote is that the culture of the word is more liberating and democratizing. The image on the other hand is restricted to those with artistic skill and elites who have the power to render certain images culturally relevant.

He then goes on to argue that in the case of the Supreme Court frieze, the depiction of the Prophet was an effort to engage with the most widely utilized standard of communication in the West – the image – to portray him alongside other major historical figures. He even notes that; ‘Whether this expression is consistent with the Islamic juristic vision in general, or with the vision of a particular juristic school of Islam, is another matter’ (2001: 5). While later admitting that Islamic juridical rulings do have the capacity to change with the times, by no means is Alwani arguing that the Muslim world should just uncritically lift its restrictions on artistic portrayals of the Prophet. He recognizes that the context surrounding the depiction of the Prophet in the West is significantly different from that in the Muslim world where such a depiction would undoubtedly be condemned.

His ruling hearkens back to Islam’s historical toleration of other civilizations’ artistic and cultural history; ‘Despite this clear preference for the arts of the Word, the spiritual leaders of Islam did not try to destroy the Pharaonic pyramids, the Persian throne, ancient Persian ruins, or the Greek and Roman fortresses scattered throughout its lands’ (2001: 5). Only recently have transnational terrorist groups made efforts to eradicate long standing monuments and artifacts from civilizations that predated Islam. Not only did earlier Islamic civilizations not destroy these artifacts, they even often made great efforts to preserve and upkeep these sites.

Alwani reminds his readers that the Qur’an does not explicitly forbid images and even possesses a verse (34:12–13) in which the Prophet Solomon was thankful for gifts he received from jinn (spirits) that were believed to possess images of living beings. However, he is careful to note that; ‘There is no doubt that. . . the Messenger of God (SAAS) prohibited sculpture and drawing of images, warning strongly against such acts and holding those who engaged in them responsible for such acts until the Day of Resurrection’ (2001: 7). Alwani’s larger question is ‘whether the ʾaḥādīth have totally prohibited the making of images as an act of worship, or whether this prohibition is contextual’ (2001: 7). Like Qaradawi, Alwani invokes a nuanced and contextualized understanding of the stipulations regarding certain types of imagery.

Alwani notes that historically opinions regarding image-making have ranged from totally forbidden to totally acceptable and meticulously investigates different ʾaḥādīth on images. He concludes that only thirteen are related to images, ‘all of which are ahadith ahad [stories narrated by only a single reporter], and some of which are mawquf [sayings which are traced back to companions and not the Prophet himself]’, and that the main concern of these all were related to images that might be worshipped (2001: 19). Another concern he alluded to, like Qaradawi, was that of ratio. Alwani was also critical of images being used as an expression of wealth and vanity by elites.

Alwani argues that since there is no conceivable way to argue that the Supreme Court frieze – a frieze done to be respectful and praising in a purely historical context alongside other lawgivers – was meant to invoke worship, then it should not be condemned. His biggest critique of the frieze depicting the Prophet was that it did not accurately depict the numerous literary descriptions (ḥilya) of him found in other Islamic sources. In the end, Alwani declares:

The Prophet (SAAS) judged that others have the right to express their own positions as they see it. In following the Prophet’s (SAAS) example we must remember that those who carved the frieze and place it in the Supreme Court are not Muslims. So, it should not be expected that they would express what the Muslim believers usually express when they talk about the Prophet in his capacity as a Messenger of God (SAAS). As the Prophet (SAAS) himself respected freedom of conscience in his own dealings, so do we. (2001: 26)

The most important thing in Alwani’s fatwā is his contextualization of this specific case. He does not suggest that Muslims ought to abandon the long-held norm of not producing images of the Prophet. He argues that there are arguments for and against this position and that the matter would be different if this frieze were commissioned by a Muslim government or created by Muslim artists.

Both Alwani and Qaradawi understand contemporary reality and offer rulings that are meant to protect the dignity and integrity of Islam’s sacred objects. At the same time however, both scholars recognize that there should always be special cases and exceptions based on the more general Islamic principles of maqāṣid and maṣlaḥa. One of the five ḍarūriyyāt principles of maqāṣid al-Sharī’ah is that of ḥifẓ al-dīn, or ‘preserving the religion.’ ⁸ Alwani and Qaradawi both invoke this essential principal as the primary source that guides their overall rulings on imagery. In general, so long as an image is not damaging to the religion (i.e. meant to invoke veneration), there at least is some room for further discussion and elaboration. Alwani is more liberal on this matter than Qaradawi, and Alwani is less concerned with the public/private distinction than Qaradawi.

One can see an overlapping consensus between Western and Islamic thought regarding the idea of representation as meaning making and the powerful function that images play in shaping human experience. Both scholars’ fatāwā recognized the potential hazards inherent within certain types of visual representations. Many of the concerns raised by Plato and Baudrillard can be found in Qaradawi and Alwani’s rulings whether they were aware of it or not; both Islamic scholars sought to differentiate between the types of imagery that could undermine and reify Islam’s fundamental categories and the types that did not present such a threat. Both fatāwā offered a practical middle ground on this matter.

Conclusion

Islam’s aniconism does not lessen one’s ability to be contemplative; rather it invites the individual to fix their mind on something external to their situated being. It allows one to project their soul into an individualizing form. Islamic art ‘is analogous to that of virgin nature, especially the desert, which also favours contemplation, although, from another point of view, the order created by art is opposed to the chaos inherent in the nature of the desert’ (Burckhardt, 1987: 232). What aniconism ultimately does is create a void that one’s own imagination and reflexive creativity fills. Titus Burckhardt believes Islamic art ‘creates an order that expresses equilibrium, serenity and peace’, and that the absence of icons in Islamic art is a virtue:

Islamic art aids man to be entirely himself. Instead of projecting his soul outside himself, he can remain in his ontological centre where he is both the vicegerent (khalîfa) and slave (‘abd) of God. Islamic art as a whole aims at creating an ambience which helps man to realize his primordial dignity; it therefore avoids everything that could be an ‘idol’, even in a relative and provisional manner. Nothing must stand between man and the invisible presence of God. (1987: 223)

The ultimate solution to the problem of idolatry in Islam was to prevent the creation of icons altogether that could be associated with idolatry, hence the general prohibition on creating reproductions on all things that are believed to have a soul.

It should not be surprising that depictions of the Prophet meant to be openly hostile such as the Danish cartoons from 2005 or those that appeared in Charlie Hebdo would spark condemnation from Muslims. Stéphane Charbonnier, one of the editors of Charlie Hebdo who was killed in the infamous January 7, 2015 terrorist attack, as early as 2012 made it clear that his satirical magazine understood exactly what it was doing when creating cartoons meant to defame Islam’s Prophet. At least three years prior to the attacks, Charbonnier was quoted as saying that Islam must continue to be mocked ‘until Islam is just as banal as Catholicism’ (quoted in Greenhouse, 2012). This resonates well with Talal Asad’s claim that blasphemy ‘seeks to disrupt a living relationship’ (2009: 46). It is clear that Charbonnier and his editorial staff recognized the power of imagery and the corrosive effect it can have on religious discourses if utilized in certain ways. His statement was basically an admission of the magazine’s true intent when producing the images of Islam’s Prophet—its intent was not to simply get a cheap laugh or offer any profound social commentary, but rather to reify Islam and mitigate the potency of its mimetic function by rendering it just as banal as Catholicism.

Reification does not transpire at a fixed point in time; it is an ongoing process of denaturing that happens via repetition and reproduction that mitigates the revolutionary and more radical potential latent within any work of art, ideology, or religious system. Lukács argued that reification ultimately ‘stamps its imprint on the whole of consciousness’ (1971 [1923]: 100). Islam’s discursive framework has various mechanisms that actively combat this stamp. Its emphasis on properly performing rituals such as prayers and pilgrimages are meant to codify a common experience that Muslims worldwide can share. It is this shared experience that is meant to make Islam universally accessible to all believers—not its icons or figural imagery.