Category: Religion and the Arts

Issues surrounding religious groups often boil down to a few key ideas: authority, authenticity, representation, legitimacy. These all feed into one another. A group gains authenticity through representation, and with authenticity they have authority over what is or isn’t legitimate. Authority allows a group, or a few select people, to control the narrative of what is authentic and how different people are represented. One arena where these ideas are clearly at play is among indigenous peoples and the contested lands that they hold sacred.

For years in Australia, the Anangu people have worked to regain authority and control over Uluru, a large red rock in the heart of Australia that is central to many Anangu creation stories.[1] They consider the rock their home, a sacred space meant to be private to outsiders. For years, however, the rock has been a national symbol of Australia, attracting thousands of tourists to climb its face, an activity that was emotionally and spiritually harmful to the Anangu. It was not until 2019 that the Anangu were able to gain enough voice and authority to ban the climbing of Uluru.

Since 1985, when they were granted ownership of the land encompassing Uluru, the Anangu people had to work to prove that Uluru was authentically sacred and that outsiders climbing the rock was culturally harmful. This rock is a home to them, to their culture, and to the spirits of their ancestral beings. Thus, for people to climb on that home and treat it like an amusement park was deeply hurtful. So, the Anangu worked to shift the narrative around tourism to the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, encouraging visitors to learn about and appreciate the Anangu people. They developed cultural tours to showcase their art, traditions, and beliefs, and encouraged visitors to sign a book at the cultural center, “attesting that they shunned the climb”, rather than log their names at the summit of Uluru.[2] The Anangu worked to reinforce their claim that the rock is sacred to them, changing how they and their beliefs are represented to the Australian people.

There are still those who contest the authority of the Anangu over the land. One man who campaigned against the climb’s closing claimed that, “everyone has a right to experience this place on their own terms without being bothered by petty bureaucracy and the religious views of others.”[3] Clearly, this man and many others doubt the authenticity of the Anangu claims that the climb is culturally harmful. However, the Anangu have proven their authenticity to enough of the Australian population to assert authority over Uluru and its visitors.

While the Anangu people have achieved a victory in asserting their authority and the authenticity of their beliefs, other groups are on the reverse side of that struggle. Kanaka Maoli, the native Polynesian people of the Hawaiian Islands, are actively protesting the construction of the Thirty-Meter Telescope (TMT) on Mauna Kea. Mauna Kea, also referred to as Mauna a Wakea, is sacred to Kanaka Maoli, and is central to their religion’s creation story.[4] However, about a dozen observatories have already been built upon its summit because the authorities with control over the mountain deem claims of the mountain’s scientific value more authentic than the Kanaka Maoli claims of Mauna Kea’s sacredness. Now, as a new and massive observatory is being constructed, further desecrating Mauna Kea, Kanaka Maoli are fighting to prove that Mauna Kea is genuinely sacred to them.

One of the ways that people supporting the TMT have justified the project is by denying “that Mauna a Wakea is sacred and questioned the authenticity of ceremonies on and for the mountain on the basis that the Hawaiian religion is defunct.”[5] These claims clearly come from outsiders, which makes you ask, what authority do they have to make this claim? The assumption that Hawaiian religion is a thing of the past, and that there is no reason that science should not take precedence, is wrapped up in issues of settler colonialism and U.S. occupation of Hawaii. A variety of American authorities, including the government, scientific organizations, and universities, have imbued themselves with authority over the people, culture, and resources of the Hawaiian islands.

The assumption of American authority over Hawaii has had a variety of consequences. The overthrowing of the Hawaiian kingdom – recognized by the US as illegal in a 1993 Apology Resolution – firmly established this notion of American authority, taking control of the land away from Kanaka Maoli. The US has since utilized the islands for a range of uses, including the appropriation of sacred sites for science and tourism. Kanaka Maoli and their culture were painted as a thing of the past, reenacted for the sake of foreign tourists, viewed more as a theme than a living culture.

Since the 1970s, however, there has been a movement often referred to as the Hawaiian Renaissance. This has involved a reclaiming of language, religion, and land – essentially, a reclaiming of identity, authenticity, and authority. In the case of the TMT protests, Kanaka Maoli have used ceremonies, chants, offerings, and other religious traditions, showing that the religion is still active.[6] By asserting their culture as a living entity, they are removing it from its status as simply a tourist amusement. Others have taken an academic approach, writing to prove the continued existence of Hawaiian religion. Scholars like Marie Alohalani Brown, Assistant Professor of Religion at the University of Hawaii, have written treatises on the evolution of Hawaiian religion, utilizing her authority as a recognized scholar at an American university to argue that her people’s religion had not become defunct, but is still alive and worthy of spiritual and legal protection.

Not only have protestors been arguing the authenticity of their religion, but they are also pointing out how groups in positions of authority or with more representation have more control over what counts as authentic. Marie Alohalani Brown points out in her treatise on Hawaiian religion that major world religions, with their greater representations, do not have to justify the authenticity and validity of their beliefs and traditions in the same way that Kanaka Maoli have had to do.[7] She also acknowledges that, in the case of Mauna Kea, “the people in power have determined that science trumps perceptions of the sacred.”[8] Thus, she acknowledges how authority feeds into ideas of what is authentic or legitimate. Since the Hawaiian religion lacks representation and authority, their claims of sacredness are deemed inauthentic.

Both Uluru and Mauna Kea are sites of contention between the religious and secular worlds’ claims to authority and authenticity. This type of contest is found all over the world, whether the disagreement is over the use of a location, women’s rights, or the validity of gender and sexual identities. Sometimes it is a fight between for authority between religion and science, or religion and the government. Sometimes it is even a fight between or within religious groups, such as the highly contested Temple Mount in Jerusalem, which has at least 3 different religions claiming authority over this site, arguing that their claim to the site is more authentic than any other. Regardless of what is being fought over, it boils down to the cyclical notions of authority and authenticity, with the achievement of one typically ensuring that the other will follow.

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[1] Jaime Tarabay, “A Climbing Ban at Uluru Ends a Chapter. But There’s More to This Australian Story,” NYTimes, published October 24, 2019. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/24/world/australia/uluru-climbing-ban.html?searchResultPosition=13

[2] Tarabay.

[3] Marc Hendrickx, quoted in “A Climbing Ban at Uluru Ends a Chapter.”

[4] Michelle Broder Van Dyke, “’A new Hawaiian Renaissance’: how a telescope protest became a movement,” The Guardian, published August 17, 2019. https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/aug/16/hawaii-telescope-protest-mauna-kea

[5] Marie Alohalani Brown, “Mauna Kea: Ho’omana Hawai’i and Protecting the Sacred,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 10, no. 2 (2016): 152.

[6] Van Dyke.

[7] Brown, 165.

[8] Brown, 165.

Issues surrounding religious groups often boil down to a few key ideas: authority, authenticity, representation, legitimacy. These all feed into one another. A group gains authenticity through representation, and with authenticity they have authority over what is or isn’t legitimate. Authority allows a group, or a few select people, to control the narrative of what is authentic and how different people are represented. One arena where these ideas are clearly at play is among indigenous peoples and the contested lands that they hold sacred.

For years in Australia, the Anangu people have worked to regain authority and control over Uluru, a large red rock in the heart of Australia that is central to many Anangu creation stories.[1] They consider the rock their home, a sacred space meant to be private to outsiders. For years, however, the rock has been a national symbol of Australia, attracting thousands of tourists to climb its face, an activity that was emotionally and spiritually harmful to the Anangu. It was not until 2019 that the Anangu were able to gain enough voice and authority to ban the climbing of Uluru.

Since 1985, when they were granted ownership of the land encompassing Uluru, the Anangu people had to work to prove that Uluru was authentically sacred and that outsiders climbing the rock was culturally harmful. The Anangu worked to shift the narrative around tourism to the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, encouraging visitors to learn about and appreciate the Anangu people. They developed cultural tours to showcase their art, traditions, and beliefs, and encouraged visitors to sign a book at the cultural center, “attesting that they shunned the climb”, rather than log their names at the summit of Uluru.[2] The Anangu worked to reinforce their claim that the rock is sacred to them, changing how they and their beliefs are represented to the Australian people.

There are still those who contest the authority of the Anangu over the land. One man who campaigned against the climb’s closing claimed that, “everyone has a right to experience this place on their own terms without being bothered by petty bureaucracy and the religious views of others.”[3] Clearly, this man and many others doubt the authenticity of the Anangu claims that the climb is culturally harmful. However, the Anangu have proven their authenticity to enough of the Australian population to assert authority over Uluru and its visitors.

While the Anangu people have achieved a victory in asserting their authority and the authenticity of their beliefs, other groups are on the reverse side of that struggle. Kanaka Maoli, the native Polynesian people of the Hawaiian Islands, are actively protesting the construction of the Thirty-Meter Telescope (TMT) on Mauna Kea. Mauna Kea, also referred to as Mauna a Wakea, is sacred to Kanaka Maoli, and is central to their religion’s creation story.[4] However, about a dozen observatories have already been built upon its summit because the authorities with control over the mountain deem science more authentic than the Kanaka Maoli claims of Mauna Kea’s sacredness. Now, as a new and massive observatory is being constructed, further desecrating Mauna Kea, Kanaka Maoli are fighting to prove that Mauna Kea is genuinely sacred to them.

One of the ways that people supporting the TMT have justified the project is by denying “that Mauna a Wakea is sacred and questioned the authenticity of ceremonies on and for the mountain on the basis that the Hawaiian religion is defunct.”[5] There is an assumption, tied up in issues of settler colonialism and U.S. occupation, that the Hawaiian religion is a thing of the past that is no longer practiced, and thus there is no reason that science should not take precedence. Thus, a major aspect of the protests against the TMT involve ceremonies, chants, offerings, and other religious traditions, showing that the religion is still active.[6] Scholars, such as Marie Alohalani Brown, Assistant Professor of Religion at the University of Hawaii, have even written treatises on the evolution of Hawaiian religion, arguing its continuity in order to protect in spiritually and legally.

Not only have protestors been arguing the authenticity of their religion, but they are also pointing out how groups in positions of authority or with more representation have more control over what counts as authentic. Marie Alohalani Brown points out in her treatise on Hawaiian religion that major world religions, with their greater representations, do not have to justify the authenticity and validity of their beliefs and traditions in the same way that Kanaka Maoli have had to do.[7] She also acknowledges that, in the case of Mauna Kea, “the people in power have determined that science trumps perceptions of the sacred.”[8] Thus, she acknowledges how authority feeds into ideas of what is authentic or legitimate. Since the Hawaiian religion lacks representation and authority, their claims of sacredness are deemed inauthentic.

Both Uluru and Mauna Kea are sites of contention between the religious and secular worlds’ claims to authority and authenticity. This type of contest is found all over the world, whether the disagreement is over the use of a location, women’s rights, or the validity of gender and sexual identities. Sometimes it is a fight between for authority between religion and science, or religion and the government. Sometimes it is even a fight between or within religious groups, such as the highly contested Temple Mount in Jerusalem, which has at least 3 different religions claiming authority over this site, arguing that their claim to the site is more authentic than any other. Regardless of what is being fought over, it boils down to the cyclical notions of authority and authenticity, with the achievement of one typically ensuring that the other will follow.

---

[2] Tarabay.

[3] Marc Hendrickx, quoted in “A Climbing Ban at Uluru Ends a Chapter.”

[4] Michelle Broder Van Dyke, “’A new Hawaiian Renaissance’: how a telescope protest became a movement,” The Guardian, published August 17, 2019. https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/aug/16/hawaii-telescope-protest-mauna-kea

[5] Marie Alohalani Brown, “Mauna Kea: Ho’omana Hawai’i and Protecting the Sacred,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture 10, no. 2 (2016): 152.

[6] Van Dyke.

[7] Brown, 165.

[8] Brown, 165.

I was talking to my mom at one point between watching episodes of Unorthodox and she asked me what I thought of it and its portrayal of Judaism. I commented that it felt as if they took all the negative aspects that could exist within such a community and put them onscreen. It felt as though the show writers were intentionally making Judaism and conservative religion as a whole look evil and cult-like. When reading the review of the show in Forward, I thought of Abby Stein, who is a trans woman who was raised in a very prominent Hasidic family in Williamsburg, and had even been a rabbi before leaving the community and transitioning. I was wondering if she had said anything about the show’s portrayal of the community in which she was raised, and it turned out that she had actually played an extra on the show. The only thing I found written by her about the show, however, focused on her own journey dealing with gender, Judaism, and choice/obligation, rather than the accuracy, or lack thereof, of the show. While I understand that television typically exaggerates for the sake of creating interesting content, I certainly agreed with the review that the characters seemed unrealistic and flat, and that the oppressiveness and possessiveness of the Hasidic community was unrealistically exaggerated.

For my final project topic, I am considering various forms of sand art. So far, it seems that the most common forms of sand art that are of religious significance are Navajo sandpainting, Tibetan Buddhist sand mandalas, and Hindu rangoli. There is something about the temporality of all of these art forms that interests me. They are just as much ritual as they are art work, and they have varying functions across cultures despite seeming so outwardly similar. The obstacle that I am running into is research. I have been able to find a few encyclopedic entries on each of these art forms, but few scholarly works that are available to me. There are some that I’ve found, but the Trexler library does not hold them so I am hoping that they can acquire a digital copy of these sources for me. Despite my very preliminary research not turning up much, I have hope that as I dig deeper, I can find something. I am hoping to also find some sort of primary information from people who practice these art forms, as well as scholarly works looking at their ritualistic functions. My only worry, other than the availability of research, is that this is too narrow of a topic. I am hoping that by including three different versions of this art form, I will have enough material, but I may need to expand to include other forms of temporary art that function similarly.

Our conversations about the cross brought us to the idea of the cross, and other religious or religious-adjacent symbols, in modern jewelry. We used jewelry to talk about appropriation and presentation. The idea of how comfortable we are wearing certain symbols in certain contexts, as well as how comfortable we are seeing others wear certain symbols, was the central theme to our discussion. Why does it make us uncomfortable to see someone wearing certain symbols, whether it is their own, or a symbol that we identify with that we feel is being appropriated? Should our discomfort make them feel uncomfortable with the presentation of their jewelry? For instance, should a Catholic hide their crucifix so as not to make a Muslim uncomfortable? Should a non-Jew choose not to wear the Star of David, so as not to make a Jew uncomfortable? What I keep coming back to is this idea of personal discomfort. While the discomfort itself says something about the symbol and its meanings and appropriate uses according to some, I am not sure how strong of an influence that discomfort should have on others choices.

I enjoyed the scholarly smugness in Longenecker’s chapter. He repeatedly pointed to scholars that insisted the cross was not used in Christian art before Constantine and responded with evidence to the contrary. I am very curious about Christian Gnosticism, because I don’t really have any previous knowledge of their theology and cosmogony. Pierce did not recognize these examples of the cross pre-Constantine, only mentioning its use as a symbol of mockery. Also, the language she used in describing the Crusades grabbed my attention, as it seemed decidedly on the side of Christian “liberation” of the “Holy Land”.

The curatorial choices in the gallery we visited were very interesting. I would love to see the gallery as it typically stands, as it was mentioned that most of that gallery is a permanent exhibit. The juxtaposition of European and South American art on the central block was particularly interesting in the development of how people viewed the figure of Mary. The use of the black Madonna by the Mexican artists reflects issues of race and color that must have been present in that colonial society, allowing the divine figures of the Madonna and Child to take on a darker skin tone than Europeans had typically presented them with for centuries. The Peruvian painting also seemed to emphasize the divinity of the Holy Spirit. The dove representing the Holy Spirit was the source of light, rather than the Father, who was also depicted, or Jesus, who was not depicted as it was a scene before his birth. This theological focus on the Holy Spirit is typically reflective of a focus on revelation or inspiration, rather than the Old or New Testament authority of the Father and Jesus, respectively.

Many people experience an emotional reaction to particular aspects of architecture. When a gold-laden room is illuminated by the natural light streaming through the windows, or Gothic spires tower stories above the ground, or intricate details decorate a building with a million little scenes, it is enough to invoke awe in almost any viewer, even one with no relation to that particular building or its history. The ability of architecture to summon these feelings of spiritual transcendence can be seen in the rising trends of religious tourism, as millions flock to sites around the globe that are understood as architectural wonders, attracting guests of all religious backgrounds to bask in their glory. These buildings have such a profound effect on the millions of tourists that come to visit them, so one can only imagine the meaning they hold for those who use these spaces for their religious purpose. However, the ability of architectural design to express sacredness and spirituality is not unique to the grand monuments that tourists flock to. Even simple and modest religious spaces are often designed in such a way as to hold meaning to those that make use of it. From the design and placement of the windows, to the orientation of the building and its major foci, religious buildings are constructed in ways that will add to and enhance the sacredness and spirituality of the space.

            Many religious buildings use explicit religious symbols and stories to adorn their spaces, but the explicit religious representation is not the sole contributor to the experience of sacredness in that space. To some, like Finnish architect Juhani Pallasmaa, it is actually the “artistic qualities, emotions, and associations, irrespective of canonical symbolization,” that cause people to experience sacredness in the space.[1] These artistic qualities that Pallasmaa refers to can include the materials chosen, the purposeful use of both natural and artificial lighting, the symbols and figures etched into the walls, the orientation of entrances, niches, and larger spaces. Such elements can inspire devotion and spirituality in those who view these buildings. According to Kieckhefer, when Russian envoys traveled to Constantinople and encountered the Hagia Sophia in the 10^th century, they proclaimed “we know not whether we were in heaven or on earth. For on earth  there is no such splendor or such beauty, and we are at a loss how to describe it. We know only that God dwells there among men.”[2] The Hagia Sophia, though certainly a particularly extravagant example, is an example nonetheless of the powerful ability of architectural design to inspire feelings of spirituality and sacredness. The magnitude of the building, its towering height, the expansive interior laden with gold and marble that reflect light from the lamps and windows, the artistically decorated domes – all of these elements contribute to how the 10^th century Russian envoys experienced sacredness in that space, an experience likely shared by the millions of people who have entered the Hagia Sophia since its 6^th century construction.

            Some people, like Pallasmaa, might consider the construction of a building, even a religious building, to be secular, making a distinction between explicitly religious symbols and the seemingly secular design elements of light, material, and shape. The Russian envoys, however, point out the religious sacredness of these potentially secular elements. Buildings constructed for religious purposes are built with an understanding that their design will represent aspects of their religiosity. The use of gold and lighting in the Hagia Sophia was likely intended to invoke the divine. When it comes to spaces that are being designed and built today, we have the fortunate opportunity to understand the religious symbolism of the design according to the architects themselves. Siamak Hariri, designer of the South American Baha’i House of Worship in Santiago, Chile had an entire book published documenting the process of constructing the temple, using photos and his own words to describe the inspiration behind every choice in the process.[3] He took the notion of “embodied light”, which he derived from Baha’i writings on prayer, and he used that idea to guide his choices of materials, structure, and shape.[4] Thus, the temple is able to physically capture and “embody” light, as a practicing Baha’i would experience when their prayers are answered. This demonstrates how the artistic qualities of a religious building’s architecture are specifically chosen in order to reflect religiosity and sacredness as it is understood in that tradition. Even without explicit religious narratives or symbols adorning the space, it meant to invoke specific feelings of sacredness in those for whom it is built.

            The notion that the artistic elements and beauty of a space affect people’s religious experiences is corroborated by many traditions that encourage the beautification of religious spaces and objects. Judaism’s formal name for this idea is Hiddur Mitzvah, understood to mean enhancement or beautification of the divine commandments.[5] According to Hiddur Mitzvah, a person should go beyond the formal demands of the law in order to follow commandments with intentionality and thoughtfulness. The glorification of mitzvot with beauty is meant to demonstrate a commitment to God, derived from Exodus 15:2, which states, “this is my God and I will glorify him.”[6] Judaism is not the only tradition where this notion is seen, as we have already seen through the Hagia Sophia and the Baha’i House of Worship how design and art can demonstrate aspects of a relationship with the divine. Therefore, Pallasmaa’s idea that “the actual experience of sacredness usually arises from artistic qualities, emotions, and associations, irrespective of canonical symbolization,” is easily refuted.[7] The artistic qualities may inspire experiences of sacredness, but they are not devoid of canonical symbolization. It may be more subtle and implicit in the design choices, but the architecture of a religious space is purposefully imbued with religious meaning in order to inspire people to devotion and commitment to their religion and their ideas of divinity.

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[1] Juhani Pallasmaa, “Light, Silence, and Spirituality in Architecture and Art,” in Transcending Architecture: Contemporary Views on Sacred Space, edited by Bermudez, (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2015), 21.

[2] Richard Kieckhefer, “Architectural Expression and Ways of Being Religious”, in The Oxford Handbook of Religion and the Arts, edited by Brown, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014).

[3] Hariri Pontarini Architects, Embodied Light: The Baha’i Temple of South America, (Boston: Walter de Gruyter GmbH, 2017).

[4] Hariri Pontarini Architects, 20.

[5] “Beautify (Hiddur) Mitzvah”, Jewish Learning Matters, accessed February 22, 2020. https://www.jewishlearningmatters.com/AC1-Beautify-%28Hiddur%29-Mitzvah-1191.aspx

[6] Exodus 15:2

[7] Pallasmaa, 21.

During class, Professor Albert kept coming back to Pallasmaa’s quote: “Thus, religious sacredness implies the encounter of a space, object, or ritual which has been specifically named or designated sacred beforehand. The spirituality invoked by a secular artistic work is a personal and individual existential experience which obtains its aura and impact through the inherent nature of human experience itself without any explicit religious symbolization, connotation, or designation.” This quote implies a separation between religion and spirituality. I think what Pallasmaa misunderstands is that the spirituality that he is describing as being entirely secular would be interpreted, by many religious people, as religious experiences. Pallasmaa mentions that these secular artistic works that invoke spirituality lack any explicit religious symbols, and that is what makes the experience a secular spirituality. However, many people do not need a symbol to be explicitly religious in order to interpret it through that lens. Take light, for example. It is not an explicitly religious phenomenon. However, if someone understands light as the presence of the divine, or a sign from a god, a beacon or a guide, or even just an example of divine creation, then their experience of light is both spiritual and religious. The fault in Pallasmaa’s words lies in his assumption that religious sacredness relies on things that are specifically designated as religiously sacred. Religious sacredness does not rely on specific naming as such, but through individual’s interpretation of a space, object, or ritual.

I was surprised in doing my research for this class how little information I could find relating to how the architectural design of a religious space impacts people’s spiritual experiences. Perhaps I was simply not using the right keywords. But personally, I am always awe-stricken by particular pieces of architecture, how the light will shine through in certain ways to illuminate the space, how the grandiosity of the building can overwhelm a person and set the tone of their experience. I find myself, while traveling, taking many photos of buildings as I walk by them, or designs on the walls and windows that capture the eye. I included many photos in this week’s sources, because I feel like words can only do so much to convey the effect these buildings can have. The Hagia Sophia was a good example, because as soon as I looked up photos, both the exterior and the interior made me gasp. To conduct ritual in a space such as that must have a strong effect on one’s religious experiences.