The Knight of Faith: Touchstones of Transcendence, Immanence and Immortality in Islam

H. Talat Halman, Assistant Professor, Religion
Central Michigan University

© Copyright 2008
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Human beings have received, relayed and cherished sacred stories narrating that God created people and defined their communities by the power of His Word. We can say this about the three Abrahamic faiths, Judaism, Christianity and Islam as well as a number of other religious traditions, especially Zoroastrianism, the revelation to the pre-Islamic Persian Prophet, Zoroaster (Zarathustra). Buddhists, Hindus and Confucians have also defined themselves in relation to a moral and spiritual order that in some way revolves around sacred texts. For example, by the second century, B.C.E. (or, B.C.) a Chinese citizen seeking to enter into the prestigious and lucrative ranks of the civil service would take exams based on the texts of Confucius. A number of Vedic myths (also re-iterated in the Laws of Manu and other genres of Indian spiritual classics and sacred texts) dictate a social hierarchy based on the revealed (sruti) text In such cases we see clearly how sacred texts, in addition to other symbols and also rituals define social interaction. Almost all religious systems include a vast reservoir of symbols, even in traditions whose teachers attempt to stay grounded in an non-symbolically mediated mode of experience.(The most cogent example of this arises in Zen Buddhist teaching and practice.)

Cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker (1924-1974) described the situation in which human beings find themselves as a dialectical struggle. As a mammal, humans share with animals a flesh and blood body that will die. At an early age, when a relative, friend or pet dies, we encounter death and begin to live with the foreknowledge that we will die. Second, we can and do reflect on our own death. As far as we can understand, since humans are the only animals who symbolize and communicate in abstract ideas, we are uniquely destined to ponder, fret and suppress the thought of our own mortality. We will die. We know that. But what are we doing about it?

I will begin presenting some touchstones among Becker's ideas and then proceed to apply them as ways of understanding religion in general and Islam in particular. Becker speaks of human activity in terms of what he calls “immortality projects” and “heroism,” and ultimately “cosmic heroism.” In essence, Becker argues that human beings live a double life: we have bodies as animals have, but we also can communicate and symbolize in language. And the fulfillment of that symbolic self beyond our animality revolves around our use of the pronoun “I.” When we begin to self-identify, by using the word “I,” we enter a new domain. When we start to use pronoun “I,” in addition to symbolizing we become self-reflective. With our symbols and symbol systems we can create works of art, literature, dance and music, etc. In this sense, humans alone can create what I call -- playing on Wordsworth’s poem -- “simulations of immortality.”

For example, we still read the epic of Gilgamesh the Sumerian half-god, half-man King 4,500 years later. I picked Gilgamesh as an example because, a poignant moment in his story occurs when he faces the death of his friend Enkidu. Further, Gilgamesh searched for an herb that would grant immortality and found the sage at the head of two rivers named Utnapishtim who instructed him in how to find the plant of immortality. Unfortunately, one condition Utnapishtim stipulated involved staying awake for six nights (I guess Gilgamesh set the standards for Finals week.) Unfortunately for Gilgamesh, he fell asleep on the last night and a serpent ate the plant. Thus Gilgamesh had to reckon with his own death. In a sense Gilgamesh serves as a parable of and for us all.

Two other points among these ideas I would suggest applying to thinking about Islam. First, Becker argues that through our capacity to symbolize and create cultural artifacts (writing, music, dance, architecture, painting, etc.) we can leave a legacy behind us that will outlast our physical bodies. This means that through our cultural artifacts we create what I call “simulations of immortality.”

In this sense Becker invites us to view -- or accept the reality that -- our lives, our work, our vocation, and our art express what he calls “immortality projects.” Most people seem to seek out immortality in the sense of leaving a legacy behind. Second, Becker unpacks his notion of immortality projects by asking us to consider the archetypes of the Hero and the Artist as the paramount symbolic representations of immortality. The hero and the artist embrace and fulfill immortality projects. Becker describes the three supreme archetypes of the Hero: the Artist, the Saint and the Knight. (Think of Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Mother Theresa among saints; among knights, think of Luke Skywalker and Sir Galahad who perfected the Grail Quest; among artists think of rock, stars, film stars, painters, musicians, and writers.)

It is worth noting in relation to studying Islam that when Becker speaks of a Knight, he is borrowing the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard’s (1813-1855) ideal of the Knight of Faith. Kierkegaard applied the term “Knight of Faith” to describe Abraham. The story of Abraham offering up his son for sacrifice is also narrated in the Qur’an. (Qur’an 37:100-113) In his study of Abraham, Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard had sounded the clarion call for each of us to be Knights of Faith ourselves in surrender to God.

Implicit in Becker’s theory is that either a person lives out a heroic life for him or herself or, if not, he or she strongly identifies with heroes in seeking meaning in his or her life. In other words, consider our adulation of movie stars (notice we used to call “stars of the silver screen” by the term “movie idols.”) as well as rock music stars, and athletes. Consider how our absorption in their lives in tabloids, Fox News and CNN, bespeaks what psychoanalysts call “projection” and “transference.” In simple terms this means we live our heroism vicariously by identifying with our heroes’ achievements. Metaphorically we keep heroes (and the stars who are heroes) alive in our memories. Some people wear clothes that advertise their heroes: for example, if I see someone wearing a sky-blue T-shirt with the number 23 printed on it, I know the wearer probably considers Michael Jordan a hero. Think of comic book super-heroes, Greek gods, and of course part of the topic we turn to next: the singular unique one God of the three Abrahamic traditions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) and the Zoroastrian tradition.

We find another point of great relevance in Becker's observation -- his way of thinking about "transference" -- that human beings naturally want to submit to leaders. Becker emphasizes that people want to passively surrender in a love-merging to a person or being upon whom they have projected (and thereby given away) their own power. The term "transference" arose out of psychoanalysis to describe the way that the "patient transfers the feelings he had toward his parents as a child to the person of the physician. He blows the physician up larger than life just as the child sees the parents. He becomes as dependent on him, draws protection and power." (Becker, Escape from Evil p., 129. (I discuss "transference" and "projection" in more detail at www.halmantle.com .) Applying this to religious experience and traditions, Becker writes, "As the highest ambition of the child is to obey the all-powerful parent, to believe in him and to imitate him, what is more natural than an instant imaginary return to childhood....[M]ost people can hide and disguise their urge to merge themselves with power figures.[T]he need to be subject to someone remains; only the part of the father is transferred to teachers, superiors, impressive personalities; the submissive loyalty to rulers that is also a transference of this sort." (ibid., p. 130-131)

Now I would like to consider the significance of these points for thinking about Islam and Muslims: if, as Becker asserts, symbols provide the basis of our attempts to create “immortal” – or at least long-lasting – phenomena, then the symbol of a transcendent God, a God beyond all imagined gods – is the greatest strike against our plight of mortality and the concomitant death anxiety Becker points out that human beings endure. To assert that this one God (“Allah” in Arabic) is the God who is greater, (implying ‘greater than any other being, phenomenon or thing’) is to engage in an immortality project. (Five times a day in Muslim areas people hear the call to prayer which begins with, “Allahu Akbar,” [literally, “God is greater.”]) In this sense, as Becker states directly, all religions are immortality projects. But I would like to see if belief and practice in Islam perhaps exceptionally exemplifies the nature of religion and religious life as what Becker calls an “immortality project.”

To understand Islam – whether historically or thematically – we must relate and compare it to a background of choices that include image worship or worship with images (icons and idols). I want to emphasize that most people who do not worship with images misunderstand icons and idols. Hindus, Buddhists, and Christians among others who may pray with images understand the physical object is, if not merely a symbol, an artifact has been ritually transformed or sanctified through a ritual. Some Buddhists speak of the need to “open the eyes” of an image (kaimoku in Japanese). Hindus call this pranapratishta – imbuing life into the idol and calling the deity to dwell within the idol. Any old statue or picture won’t suffice.

Still from a Muslim perspective, whatever image of a god is crafted or drawn, shares natural or material likeness. One cornerstone verse in the Qur’an that the great Sufi mystic Ibn ‘Arabi (1165-1240) repeatedly invoked in his writings reads: “…There is nothing like God, the Hearing, the Seeing.” God is the originator of all symbols and the concept of God is the rubric of all symbols. “…God, to whom belongs the supreme pattern in the heavens and the earth.” (30.27)

In the Temples in Jerusalem and Mecca, images were barred to some extent. In the Jerusalem Temple we know that the Ark of the Covenant had two sculpted golden Cherubim with wings and faces. Before the advent of Islam, in the Ka‘ba in Mecca, the Meccans housed idols (360 it is claimed) because Mecca was a stop on incense trade-routes. The Meccans were said to allow the icons as a part of their hospitality to caravan traders. We know that two types of temples stood in Mecca at different times. Muslims and archeologists distinguish two types: the Abrahamic an-iconic (no image) Temple and the idol-accommodating design (during the period Muslims call the age of ignorance [jahiliyya]). Thus the current Ka‘ba conforms to the Abrahamic model. Inside it is empty.

We find one important distinguishing characteristic of Islamic practice in the absence of altars. Among most streams of Islam people prohibit representing God in images. In most ritual contexts the only depictions that people condone are plants and geometrical design. (This restriction has led to focusing on texts, calligraphy and architecture.) In that sense one might argue that Islamic symbolism of God is on the same level as traditions that encourage and support artistic depictions of God. I would like to consider the idea that by abstracting the symbolization of God in text, calligraphy and geometric art (an aniconic modality) that a special emphasis on transcendence and immortality appears in Islamic culture.

Having said that it is incumbent to understand that God is described not only as transcendent (tanzih ), but also immanent (infused within creation) (tasbih). In this sense we can understand the Qur’anic teaching that everyday natural, physical and material phenomena and events are “signs” and “examples” of God’s nature. The sense of this is echoed in Einstein’s admiration for “…God who reveals Himself in the orderly harmony of what exists…” However, Einstein did not believe in a personal God, whereas Muslims do believe in a personal God with whom one maintains a personal relationship.

The Qur’an states that God (re)presents Himself in “signs” (aya / plural: ayat – a central category of Islamic discourse) and “examples” (mithal / pl. mathal ). In addition to this framework that sounds slightly like Einstein’s position, the Qur’an presents a God who communicates. (To be a Muslim one needs to believe God spoke the Qur’an or else live in tension with “orthodox” viewpoint.) Here we enter into the dialectic of Islam: God is unique and unlike anything in creation, while God is also immanant in all of creation and creation is -- when truly perceived -- a system of signs and symbols revealing God’s nature. Thus in that spirit – perhaps even taking the idea to the extreme -- the Indian Sufi saint Hazrat ‘Inayat Khan (1882-1927) said: “There is only one scripture: the sacred manuscript of nature.”

Now we approach the paradox. And I don’t expect this part to be easy. It caused a great amount of theological wrangling among Muslims in the ninth century. The Qur’an does describe God, as we saw before as “The Hearing, The Seeing.” But even further, the Qur’an describes God’s speech, His hands, His eyes, His feet and describes god sitting on a throne. The Qur’an also asserts that God blew His spirit into Adam and that Adam was made in God’s image. A famous tradition hadith that the Prophet Muhammad transmitted presents God as declaring: “I was a hidden treasure and I wanted to be known." In many traditions the question arises of whether God is a person (as in Allah, Elohim, Jesus, Krishna, etc.) or a principle (such as “the Godhead,” “the unity of existence,” the One without a second,” or a more recent term, “the Force.”). This matters because if God is personal, one can pray and maintain a relationship with Him (or Her in some religious traditions). But if God is a principle, one has to aim to become either like or at one with God – i.e., to acquire divine attributes or merge into God’s being. The Hindu saint Tukaram posed the problem well: “I don’t want to become sugar; I want to taste sugar.”

For practical and existential reasons, people need to understand God has "Seeing, Hearing" because these are components of language and symbolism.

That God has these characteristics provides the foundation and relevance of prayer to God. We must be able to speak and listen to God. Thus God must be compassion (rahman, forgiving) (ghafur, loving (wahhab) providing (razzaq ) knowing ('alim ) seeing (sami ' ) hearing (basir ), One who answers prayer (mujib), the loving (wadud )the friend (Wali) etc.

That human beings are the only beings with self-consciousness and self-reflexivity carries important consequences. While we are the only creatures who can say “I,” there is a Being who can say, “I am that I am.” This means God is the most self-reflexive of all beings. And to evoke that experience in one who reads (silently or aloud) the Qur’an, God’s voicing of self-referential pronouns shifts: in the Qur’an God speaks of himself as “I,” “He,” “It,” and “We.” In fact Arabic grammarians have coined a term for this pronominal shifting: iltifat. Some literary theorists who study the Qur’an suggest the experience of the shifting pronouns is meant to create a transcendental sense of God in the reader’s experience.

Returning to our opening point, we examine Muslim ritual prayer (salat [Arabic] Namaz [Persian]). In order to perform ritual prayers, one must make ablution to obviate any of the following: sleep, sex, bleeding, defecation and urination. I suggest that this is a list of the chief features we share with animals and that in a sense the ablution ritually and symbolically sets a person apart from his or her animal nature and affirms our spiritual dimension. In prayer (in many, though not necessarily all, traditions) we claim our belonging to the eternal Word.

In contrast, Shi‘a Muslims appreciate iconographic portraits of the Imams and the Prophet’s family. Although Muhammad is only very rarely depicted, one can find many portraits of Imam ‘Ali and Imam Husayn among Shi‘a Muslims. Also many Sufis (mystical Muslims, both Sunni or Shi‘a) value portraits of saints. Nonetheless almost all Sunni Muslims abhor depictions of Prophets. This means the most important immortality symbols appear in the narratives about the Prophets and the perennial and continuous revelation they have brought. According to the Qur’an all these Prophets (e.g. Abraham, Isaac, Ishmael, Joseph, Moses, David, Solomon, Jesus and Muhammad among others) brought a message of God’s absolute oneness, His transcendence, His immanence, and justice and compassion. In essence they conveyed an “immortality project” in the most proximately immortal terms possible. Many Muslims learn the entire Qur’an by heart at an early age. And in printings of the Qur’an, a hafiz (one who has memorized the entire Qur’an) inspects the text to compare it with the Qur’an he has memorized in his heart. One can deface or destroy icons, but a text (the closest approximation of an icon among Sunni Muslims) memorized by millions – as well as copiously printed – will stand as an immortality symbol in a virtually literal sense.


References

Ernest Becker. The Birth and Death of Meaning. New York: Free Press, 2nd edition, 1971.

______________. The Denial of Death. New York: Free Press, 1973.

______________. Escape from Evil. New York: Free Press, 1974.

The Qur'an: a New Translation by Thomas Cleary. Starlatch Press, 2004.