What is Sacred Art?
Here we see the use of the craft of sculpture, a static art, to capture the essence of ritual dance, the most dynamic of arts and the first of the figurative arts since, as Burckhardt says in Sacred Art in East and West, dance “works with man himself” as the medium.
Our first task is, in fact, to see sacred art in the most ancient, primordial way, one that will seem strange to those of us accustomed to viewing art through the confusing lens of modern “standards” that are rigidly fixed only on serving individualistic expression. This is a universe apart from how we must approach an appreciation of sacred art.
Let’s start with the words of the great savant of traditional art, Dr. Ananda K. Coomaraswamy:
“The language of traditional art—scripture, epic, folklore, ritual, and all the related crafts—is symbolic; and being a language of natural symbols, neither of private invention, nor established by conciliar agreement or mere custom, is a universal language.
And:
it must be recognized that although in modern works of art there may be nothing, or nothing more than the artist’s private person, behind the aesthetic surfaces, the theory in accordance with which works of traditional art were produced and enjoyed takes it for granted that the appeal to beauty is not merely to the senses, but through the senses to the intellect.
So, sacred art, which is the height of traditional art, has as its central content symbols that are perceived by and enliven the human intellect.
Burckhardt points out that such an image is “more in the nature of a symbol than a portrait.” It is thus adaptable to peoples of varying racial types. What is essential is that the image vehicle a spiritual norm to a spectator, penetrating “the bodily consciousness of the man, and the man as it were projects himself into the image; having found in himself that of which the image is an expression, he transmits back to it a subtle power which then shines forth on others.” This can be said of the artist or a collection of devotees.
According to Frithjof Schuon, the purpose of sacred art is “to communicate, on the one hand, spiritual truths and, on the other hand, a celestial presence.” We should now reflect on the meaning of those seemingly simple words in respect to art as the modern world understands it:
The quote above assumes, as does all sacred art, that there is a vast eternal Truth that is at once beyond mankind but at the same time can be communicated, and that wishes to communicate Itself! This is incomprehensible to modern, secular art which seeks to communicate whatever very limited individuals decide they need to express of themselves. In one case, the central Reality of the universe speaks, and in the other a person’s ego. Next, which artist can possibly communicate “a celestial presence” and through what means? Certainly not someone who rejects the existence of such a presence, nor even someone who can perceive that Reality but who lacks the formal ‘language’ adequate to the task, because not just any materials, be they words, movement, paint, nor just any random combination of them can bring about the ‘magic’ of expressing the Inexpressible.
We would be hard pressed to find any coherent function served by most modern art. In contrast, Schuon states simply that all sacred art acts to “enable the spirit of the central images to shine through a diverse imagery which rivets the movement of the mind by infusing into it the radiance of the Immutable, and which in so doing, imposes on the moving soul a tendency towards interiorization.” This profoundest of all effects upon those who experience art is the measure of all sacred art—does it lead to interiorization? Thus, the psyche should be calmed, thoughts collected, dispersion reversed, and, for a time, we can sense on a very deep level of consciousness that Reality communicating Itself.
All elements of the painting, including gestures, are symbolic of spiritual or cosmic realities–nothing is gratuitous or simply decorative. The dimensions of the holy body of the Buddha are rigorously determined by tradition, and, Burckhardt notes, there is a “hidden analogy” between images of the Buddha and the shape of Tibetan stupas.
For a wonderful, in-depth key to understanding Buddhist iconography, see Chapter 5 of Burckhardt’s Sacred Art in East and West.
To create sacred art, an artist must do no less than to give form to realities that are, in the Divine Realm, formless. Just as the Word of God is sent down to a specific people in a language and form that is intelligible and compelling to them, so, too, reciprocally, must the practitioner of sacred art utilize a particular ‘language’ and form to consecrate his or her work in order that it might ascend to rejoin its heavenly archetype and ‘transport’ other believers in the community there as well. This very difficult task requires contemplative intelligence, artistic skill, knowledge of the traditional framework within which the work is validated, and, perhaps most difficult of all, an ego that does not impose itself upon the process!
Clearly, not just any artist can be the catalyst in giving shape to the Divine. It requires a person who knows and can work within his or her tradition, who can perceive God’s Presence in the world, and who has mastery of the chosen art. Implicit in all this is the need for that artist to hold in check the impulses of the ego to control the production of the piece of art, instead turning in full humility to God and the Tradition to guide him or her in producing the work of sacred art. Such qualifications and conditions for their development rarely spring from an individual working in isolation, but are almost always the result of affiliation with a traditional “school” of some type.
Such traditional schools offer a link with the earliest days of the tradition and, through a Master-student model, sometimes bear striking resemblance to schools of esoteric spiritual transmission. The student/apprentice may learn special spiritual disciplines—which will probably include, for example, some type of purifying prayers—that will prepare him to undertake the sacred task of representing the Divine in earthbound media. There will be a science of proportions, materials, and so on, transmitted to the student. The craft guilds of the Middle Ages that were responsible for the creation of Europe’s great cathedrals over the passage of several generations, as well as the monastery-run schools in traditional Tibet where such masterpieces as the thangka pictured to the left, are two examples of how the creation of sacred art is guaranteed by a living tradition.
This temple is a striking example of the sacred symbolism of the circle being transformed into the rectangle, of which Burckhardt wrote:
“The completion of the world prefigured in the temple is symbolized in the rectangular form of the temple, a form essentially opposed to the circular form of a world driven onward by the cosmic movement. Whereas the spherical form of the sky is indefinite and is not accessible to any kind of measurement, the rectangular or cubical form of a sacred edifice expresses a positive and immutable law, and that is why all sacred architecture, whatever may be the tradition to which it belongs, can be seen as a development of the fundamental theme of the transformation of the circle into the square. In the genesis of the Hindu Temple, the development of this theme is particularly clearly seen, with all the richness of its metaphysical and spiritual content.”
The rest of this slideshow will examine various examples of sacred art, accompanied by the observations on them as found in Titus Burckhardt’s Sacred Art in East and West. The following is from Chapter 1, in which Burckhardt makes the point that after the building of sacred altars, practiced by both sedentary and nomadic peoples, the construction of an enclosure for that altar is the epitome of sacred art for sedentary peoples:
“Among settled peoples the sacred art par excellence is the building of a sanctuary in which the Divine Spirit, invisibly present in the universe, will “dwell in a direct and as it were “personal” sense. Spiritually speaking, a sanctuary is always situated at the centre of the world, and this is what makes it a sacratum in the true sense of the word: in such a place man is protected from the indefinity of space and time, since it is “here” and “now” that God is present to man. This is expressed in the design of the temple; its emphasis on cardinal directions co-ordinates space in relation to its centre. The design is a synthesis of the world: that which is in ceaseless movement within the universe is transposed by sacred architecture into permanent form. In the cosmos time prevails over space; on the other hand in the construction of the temple time is, as it were, transmuted into space: the great rhythms of the visible cosmos, symbolizing the principial aspects of an existence disjointed and dispersed by becoming, are reassembled and stabilized in the geometry of the building. The temple thus represents, through its regular and unalterable form, the completion of the world, the timeless aspect or final state of the world, wherein all things are at rest in the equilibrium that precedes their reintegration into the undivided unity of Being.”
Elsewhere in Chapter 1, Burckhardt also helps us understand how the artist must approach the creation of such magnificent and profound art:
“…the temple has a spirit, a soul and a body, like the man and like the universe. The Vedic sacrificer identifies himself spiritually with the altar, which he builds to the measure of his body and thereby also to the measure of the universe of which the altar is a model; in exactly the same way the architect of the temple identifies himself with the building and with that which it represents; thus each phase of the architectural task is equally a phase of spiritual realization. The artist confers upon his work something of his own vital force; in exchange he participates in the transformation which that force undergoes by virtue of the sacramental and implicitly universal nature of the work. It is in this connection that the idea of Purusha [i.e., the immutable and indivisible Essence of man and of the universe] incorporated into the building acquires direct spiritual import.”
Burckhardt notes that it is typical of traditional representations of the Virgin with Christ-child that the “representation of the Child, whose nature is mysteriously divine, is in a sense justified by that of His Mother, who clothed Him with Her flesh. A polarity then becomes apparent between the two figures, full of natural attractiveness, but of inexhaustible significance: the nature of the Child is considered in relation to the nature of His Mother and as it were through Her nature; conversely, the presence of the Divine Child, with His attributes of royalty and wisdom—or of His future Passion— confers an impersonal and profound aspect on maternity: the Virgin is the model of the soul in its state of primordial purity and the Child is like the germ of the Divine Light in the heart.”
While Burckhardt delves into Christian sacred architecture as deeply as he does Hindu, we can learn much about sacred art, symbolism, and cosmological realities from his discussion of icons within the Christian Tradition. The following is taken from Chapter 2 of Sacred Art in East and West.
“The doctrinal foundation of the icon determines not only its general orientation, its subject and its iconography, but also its formal language, its style. This style is the direct result of the function of the symbol: the picture must not seek to re place the object depicted, which surpasses it eminently; accord ing to the words of Dionysius the Areopagite it must ‘respect the distance that separates the intelligible from the sensible.’ For the same reason it must be truthful on its own plane, that is to say it must not create optical illusions, such as arise from a perspective in depth or a modeling that suggests a body projecting a shadow. In an icon the only perspective is the logical; sometimes the optical perspective is deliberately reversed; modeling by superimposed ‘lights,’ inherited from Hellenism, is reduced until it no longer disturbs the flat surface of the picture; often it is translucid, as if the persons represented were penetrated by a mysterious light. There is no determinate illumination in the composition of an icon; instead the gold background is called ‘light,’ for it corresponds to the celestial Light of a world transfigured. The folds of clothing, the arrangement of which is also derived from Greek antiquity, become the expression, not of physical movement, but of a spiritual rhythm: it is not the wind that swells the fabrics, it is the spirit that animates them. The lines no longer serve only to mark the contours of bodies, they acquire a direct significance, a graphic quality both limpid and supra-rational.”
Burckhardt makes it very clear in this chapter that naturalism is antithetical to traditional sacred art, thus the “schematic” composition that is quite intentional, and is even necessary to suggest the transcendence of the realities being depicted in traditional icons. This, combined with fundamental symbols and careful use of color and form, creates a powerful impression upon believers:
“…the schematic arrangement of the icon always affirms the metaphysical and universal background of the religious subject and this incidentally proves the non-human origin of the models. Thus, for example, in most icons of the Virgin and Child the outlines of the Mother as it were envelop those of the Child; the mantel of the Virgin is often dark blue, like the measureless depth of the sky or like deep water, while the clothing of the Divine Child is royal red. All these details have a profound significance.”
The author of the book Sacred Art in East and West (Fons Vitae/World Wisdom, 2001), Titus Burckhardt , wrote a beautiful and very profound book entirely on the cathedral of Chartres. It is Chartres and the Birth of the Cathedral .
In this focused study, he goes into great depth on all aspects of the great cathedral`s construction, history, and, above all, its sacred significance. There may be no better comprehensive study of a masterpiece of sacred art than this book, and it is highly recommended to all who would know more about this subject. As always with Burckhardt`s writing, information and narrative are woven together with deep spiritual insights that lend a `perfume` of the sacred subjects themselves.
In Chartres and the Birth of the Cathedral, the reader can see an illustration of the other two bays as well as the central bay that is pictured above.
Because it is flanked by two other portals of great symbolic meaning, the central bay is all the greater in its significance. Burckhardt explains that it “symbolizes for all time the one and only door, which transcends cyclical antitheses and reveals the Christ in His Divine Glory, appearing as judge of all things at the final reintegration of this `age` in the timeless.”
The door, or portal, of a temple or sanctuary carries in itself a powerful symbolism. There is a “symbolism inherent in the object” itself, as Schuon said. In the case at hand, the portal separates two worlds—the secular world of the street and the sacred space of the cathedral. To go through it is to cast off our mundane state of being and to be reawakened to our spiritual center. It is the task and the glory of the creator of sacred art to make sure that any symbolism superimposed on the object by the actions of his art will conform to the fundamental symbolism of the thing itself. The portal of Romanesque churches illustrates the above principle quite wonderfully. For example, by suggesting the vault of Heaven in its carved arch, it attracts us to the realm of Spirit and promises us the glory of the life to come. This symbolism supports and only deepens the fundamental symbolism of the door itself as a passage between two states.
To further explore the many dimensions possible in a single work of sacred art, we can look at Burckhardt’s desription of the Royal Portal of the Cathedral of Chartres. He points out that it has three bays (of which only the central one is pictured at right), which together connect with the symbolism of the solstices (i.e., time) and the cardinal directions (i.e., space):
“…With its three bays opening towards the West, [The Royal Portal] reveals three different aspects of the Christ, and these are also aspects of the temple itself, identified as it is with the body of the Christ. The left-hand bay, situated to the North of the central bay is dedicated to the Christ ascending to Heaven; the right-hand bay, situated to the South of the central bay, is dedicated to the Virgin and to the nativity of the Christ; the central bay, the real ‘Royal gate,’ presents the Christ in Glory, according to the apocalyptic vision of St. John. Thus the two niches on the left and on the right, corresponding respectively to the northern and southern sides of the church, represent, in conformity with the symbolism of the solstitial “gates”—the gate of winter and the gate of summer—the celestial nature and the terrestrial nature of the Christ.”
Burckhardt wrote another defining book on sacred art, this one titled Art of Islam: Language and Meaning (Islamic Festival Trust Ltd., 1976). This book, too, can add much to our understanding of sacred art in general as well as how it is manifested within the Islamic tradtion.
Here are some more insights into the sacred architecture of Islam from Sacred Art in East and West :
“Some people reproach Islamic architecture with failing to accentuate the functional aspect of the elements of a building, as does the architecture of the Renaissance, which reinforces heavily loaded elements and lines of tension, thus conferring on constructional elements a sort of organic consciousness. But according to the perspective of Islam, to do so implies nothing than a confusion between two orders of reality and a lack of intellectual sincerity: if slender columns can in fact carry the load of a vault, what is the good of artificially attributing to them a state of tension, which anyhow is not in the nature of a mineral? In another aspect, Islamic architecture does not seek to do away with the heaviness of stone by giving it an ascending movement, as does Gothic art; static equilibrium demands immobility, but the crude material is as it were lightened and rendered diaphanous by the chiseling of the arabesques and by carvings in the form of stalactites and hollows, which present thousands of facets to the light and confer on stone and stucco the quality of precious jewels. The arcades of a court of the Alhambra, for example, or of certain Northwest African mosques, repose in perfect calm; at the same time they seem to be woven of luminous vibrations. They are like light made crystalline; their innermost substance one might say, is not stone but the Divine Light, the creative Intelligence that resides mysteriously in all things.”
As we have seen, sacred art must respect the metaphysics and cosmology of the tradition from which it springs. When presented to outsiders, this may create, understandably, a lack of comprehension. Like much else about Islam, at first glance its restriction on the depiction of people in its sacred art is difficult for many Westerners to comprehend. In Chapter 4 of Sacred Art in East and West , The Foundation of Islamic Art, Burckhardt explains that the style of the art of Islam flows naturally from the view of the awesome transcendence, unity, and independence of God and the lack of comparison between this and all other creation:
“Unity, in itself eminently ‘concrete,’ nevertheless presents itself to the human mind as an abstract idea. This fact, together with certain considerations, connected with the Semitic mentality, explains the abstract character of Islamic art. Islam is centered on Unity, and Unity is not expressible in terms of any image.
“The prohibition of images in Islam is not however absolute. A plane image is tolerated as an element in profane art, on condition that it represents neither God nor the face of the Prophet; on the other hand an image ‘that casts a shadow’ is only tolerated exceptionally, when it represents a stylized animal, as may happen in the architecture of palaces or in jewelry. In a general way the representation of plants and fantastic animals is expressly allowed, but in sacred art stylized plant forms are alone admitted.
“The absence of images in mosques has two purposes. One is negative, namely, that of eliminating a ’presence’ which might set itself up against the Presence—albeit invisible—of God, and which might in addition become a source of error because of the imperfection of all symbols; the other and positive purpose is that of affirming the transcendence of God, since the Divine Essence cannot be compared with anything whatsoever.”
Besides the work of Burckhardt on Islamic art mentioned previously, there are several other books that are essential reading for those interested in the sacred arts of Islam:
• Focused on calligraphy and the illumination of the Holy Qur’an is Martin Lings’ Quranic Art of Calligraphy and Illumination (Interlink Publishing Group, Inc., 1987). This widely acclaimed book delves into the history, details, and remarkable diversity of Qur’anic calligraphy while also revealing the inner spiritual life and power of this high art.
• Islamic Art and Spirituality (SUNY Press, 1987) by Seyyed Hossein Nasr is perhaps more comprehensive than the books by Burckhardt or Lings, treating equally the plastic arts, literature, and music in Islam, with particular attention given to these traditional arts in their Persian manifestations. As with the other books, this book is both a lesson in art history and an unfolding of the inner spiritual realities behind Islamic and, indeed, all sacred art.
Again from Chapter 4 of Sacred Art in East and West , let’s follow Burckhardt’s insights into another dimension of Islamic sacred art:
“The noblest of the visual arts in the world of Islam is calligraphy, and it is the writing of the Koran that is sacred art par excellence ; it plays a part more or less analogous to that of the icon in Christian art, for it represents the visible body of the Divine Word.
“In sacred inscriptions the Arabic letters combine fluently with arabesques, especially with plant motives, which are thus brought into closer relationship with the Asiatic symbolism of the tree of the world; the leaves of this tree correspond to the words of the Sacred Book Arabic calligraphy contains within itself alone decorative possibilities of inexhaustible richness; its modalities vary between the monumental Kufic script with its rectlinear forms and vertical breaks, and the naskhi with its line as fluid and as serpentine as it could be. The richness of the Arabic script comes from the fact that it has fiilly developed its two “dimensions”: the vertical, which confers on the letters their hieratic dignity, and the horizontal, which links them together in a continuous flow. As in the symbolism of weaving, the vertical lines, analogous to the “warp” of the fabric, correspond to the permanent essences of things it is by the vertical that the unalterable character of each letter is affirmed whereas the horizontal, analogous to the “weft,” expresses becoming or the matter that links one thing to another. A significance of the kind is particularly evident in Arab calligraphy, where the vertical strokes transcend and regulate the undulating flow of the connecting strokes.”
Of this type of Eastern painting, whether Taoist or dhyana Buddhist, Burkhardt observes:
“In this style of painting there is no strict perspective, centered on a single point, but space is suggested by a sort of ‘progressive vision.’ When looking at a ‘vertical’ picture, hung on the wall at the height of a seated observer, the eye as it were climbs up the steps of the distance, from bottom to top; a ‘horizontal picture is unrolled from one end to the other as it is examined, and the eye follows the movement. This ‘progressive vision’ does not separate space completely from time, and for that reason it is nearer to the truth of experience than is a perspective artificially arrested on a single ‘viewpoint.’ Moreover all traditional arts, whatever their methods, work towards a synthesis of space and time.”
What modern Westerners ask of art, and see in art, is a far cry from the purpose and power of traditional art in the Far East, as exemplified, for example, by Taoist-Buddhist landscape paintings. A sensitive viewer cannot help but feel the ‘mystery’ of a Taoist painting, but it is another matter to enter into the spirit of this sacred art and to see the painting, and through it the natural world around us, as a reflection of a Reality that both entices and eludes us. Here are some excerpts from Chapter 6 of Sacred Art in East and West that offer us glimpses of what lies behind the mists of this evocative art:
“In the earliest Chinese representations of landscapes, engraved on metal mirrors, on bowls or on funereal slabs, beings and objects seem to be subordinated to the play of the elements, wind, fire, water and earth. To express the movement of clouds, water and fire, various kinds of curvilinear methods are used; rocks are conceived as an ascending movement of the earth; trees are defined less by their static outlines than by their structure, which reveals the rhythm of their growth. The cosmic alternation of Yang and Yin, the active and the passive, is apparent in every form or composition.”
“All the elements, mountains, trees and clouds, are there only in order to emphasize by contrast the void out of which they seem to have arisen at that very instant, and from which they are detached like ephemeral islets.”
“The composition is made up of allusions and evocations, in accordance with this saying from the Tao T King: ‘The greatest perfection must appear imperfect, and then it will be infinite in its effect; the greatest abundance must appear empty, and then it will be inexhaustible in its effect.’ Never does a Chinese or Japanese painter represent the world in the likeness of a finished cosmos, and in this respect his vision is as different as possible from that of a Westerner, even of a traditional Westerner, whose conception of the world is always more or less ‘architectural.’ A Far Eastern painter is a contemplative, and for him the world is as if it were made of snowflakes, quickly crystallized and soon dissolved. Since he is never unconscious of the non-manifested, the least solidified physical conditions are for him the nearer to the Reality underlying all phenomena; hence the subtle observation of atmosphere that we admire in Chinese paintings in ink and wash.”
is broken into 7 chapters and includes an interesting introduction by Burckhardt.
This slideshow has attempted to reveal to readers new to the study of traditional sacred art some aspects of its incredible depth. Because the modern West has divorced itself from this ancient way of seeing art and seeing the Divine through it, we often have to approach it as something new, rather than as something as old as the earliest cave paintings, as elevated as the familiar vault of the night sky, and as deep as the human hearts beating within us. We can think of no better way to approach sacred art as a new experience than through the reading of such an inspiring and edifying book as Sacred Art in East and West by the great Traditionalist/Perennialist author Titus Burckhardt.
We will close with a quote from Sacred Art in East and West that follows from the previous slide’s comments on Taoist painting. It emphasizes the vast difference in approach and goal between modern art and sacred art, leading us to the possible conclusion that great contemplative rewards await those who look to sacred art with an open mind, a humble heart, and a thirst for our Divine birthright:
“Attempts have been made to relate this style to European impressionism, as if the starting points of each were not radically different, despite certain accidental analogies. When impressionism relativizes the characteristic and stable contours of things in favour of an instantaneous effect of atmosphere, it is because it is seeking, not the presence of a cosmic reality superior to individual objects, but on the contrary a subjective impression as fleeting as it could be; in this case it is the ego, with its wholly passive and affective sensibility, that colours the scene. Taoist painting on the contrary avoids from the start, in its method and in its intellectual orientation, the hold of mind and feeling, avid as they are of individualistic affirmations; in its eyes the instantaneity of nature, with all its inimitable and almost unseizable qualities, is not in the first place an emotional experience; that is to say the emotion found in nature is not in any way individualistic nor even homocentric; its vibration dissolves in the serene calm of contemplation. The miracle of the instant immobilized by a sensation of eternity, unveils the primordial harmony of things, a harmony that is ordinarily hidden under the subjective continuity of the mind. When this veil is suddenly torn, hitherto unobserved relationships, linking together beings and things, reveal their essential unity. A particular painting may represent, for instance, two herons on the bank of a stn in springtime one of them gazes into the depths of the waters, the other holds up his head listening, and in their two momentary yet static attitudes they are mysteriously at one with the water, with the reeds bent by the wind, with the mountain tops appearing over the mist. By way of a single aspect of virgin nature, the timeless has touched the soul of the painter like a lightning stroke.”
